Survival Instincts
by Can'tStopImagining
Summary: You do whatever you need to survive. Lorna/Nicky.
1. Chapter One

A/N: Various people on tumblr asked for another Lorna-centric, and this was supposed to go in a completely different direction, but I got cold feet, and here we are. I think it was beezyland who first asked the question of whether or not Nicky and Lorna would work as a couple outside of prison, and I guess this is kind of an answer to that. I would be lying if I said her BRILLIANT story I Do (and specifically the second chapter, which you can find here) didn't partly inspire this, although I went in a slightly different direction. I should also apologise because I find that with Lorna I end up writing very much in a stream of consciousness kind of style which I realise is a bit messy to read.

I was so overwhelmed with the response to the last story I posted. Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews. I hope you'll enjoy this one just as much :-)

* * *

They don't talk about it. It's easier not to talk about it. But it's still there, in the back of her mind. A number. The first thing she thinks of when she wakes up in the morning, the last thing that she sees when she closes her eyes before she tries to sleep. It's like its written in her head in big red letters. And suddenly the number stops being three digits, rolls down from two even quicker, and they've got 6 days and she's realised that maybe not talking about it wasn't a good idea at all.

Everyone else, after all, is talking about it.

Nicky doesn't want a party. She insists on it. But if she thinks Litchfield is going to let her just walk out with not so much as a toilet paper streamer, then she's wrong. She rolls her eyes when she overhears people making plans, but her eyes glint, and there's this fondness in the way she looks at her friends that makes Lorna's heart ache. From then on out, it's like she's taking everything in, stopping to look at things for just that little bit longer.

Her included.

Lorna struggles to sleep. The numbers are there all the time now. She has to excuse herself from dinner because she needs to throw up, and she feels like everything's closing in on her, and the coping mechanisms she's built around her since day one are crumbling. She's kneeling in front of the toilet and her hands are gripping onto the sides of the seat so hard that her knuckles have gone white, and the room is spinning. _You knew it was coming. You knew it was going to have to happen. Stop being selfish. Think of Nicky._

"Hey, you alright, kid-"

She notices her, and she's behind her in a flash, fingers running through her hair, rubbing circles into her back, whispering soothing words into her ear. Lorna doesn't turn to look at her, but she can see her facial expression just as clearly in her head, and it hurts.

_This isn't fair._

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, realising she's crying once the words come out small and broken.

"Hey, c'mon, it's okay."

_It isn't. It isn't okay. It's never going to be okay again._

Nicky bundles her up in her arms and the cubicle's too small, their backs pressed against the walls, but at the same time too big, and she wants to be closer but so far away at the same time. She's shaking. She can feel her heart pounding in her ears, and tears dropping off her chin, and she's got as much of Nicky's shirt in her fists as she can manage but it's not enough not enough not enough.

"Please don't hate me," she whispers through sobs, and Nicky's hand stills in her hair, strokes her cheek, reaching her jaw, forces them to look at each other square on.

"Hate you? Kid, I could never hate you. C'mon, talk to me would ya?"

Lorna stares at her with wild eyes, cataloguing every last feature, drinking in everything. And it's too much, but not enough, and she isn't thinking properly, and suddenly her hands are tangled in dirty-blonde hair, and Nicky's lips are warm against hers, and she can't stop, can't let go.

They have to, though, because the cubicle is so _damn_ small and someone walks in and suddenly it's too public.

"C'mon," Nicky rasps, helping her up, and Lorna can see the smudge of red lipstick on her mouth and it makes her heart full, and empty at the same time, and she has to squeeze her eyes closed as Nicky leads her out of the bathroom.

They find the stairs and Lorna realises she's been holding her breath the whole time, which would account for the dizziness, the fuzziness in her head, if it wasn't there all the time. She sinks onto the steps and Nicky's sitting away from her, her head in her hands, and the room's spinning.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—-" she attempts, scrubbing a hand over her face, wiping away snot and tears and she's aware that she looks a complete wreck and to be honest who _would_ want to kiss her but-

"Well, that was a first," Nicky says quietly, "why would you do that - kiss me - for the first time knowing I'm gonna be outta here in four fucking days. Shit Lorna."

They're talking about it. The number is real, lingering between them, and Lorna doesn't know what to say because _why _did she think kissing her was going to make anything better and now she's caught in a storm with no place to go. _Stupid stupid stupid._

"I-I don't know. I just-I wanted to... just once before you.. Oh god, I'm so sorry please don't hate me, please don't-"

Nicky sighs, but her voice is gentle, "stop with that will you? I couldn't hate you even if I wanted to. Shit. This is just so fucked up, okay? Why couldn't you have done that... I dunno... six months ago. Shit."

"You mean you wanted me to-?" her pulse is racing and her hands are sweaty and Nicky's too close but sitting too far away for her to touch and it hurts.

"Of course I wanted you to. Christ, you really don't have a clue do you?" she laughs, and it's a comforting sound but it slices through her like a knife, "I've got the whole fucking prison on my back about it, and you just don't have a clue."

Lorna swallows, and wipes her eyes again, and she's finally stopped crying. A small smile creeps onto her lips and she allows it to linger for a moment, "then why didn't you ever... well, y'know?"

Looking at her through a mane of hair, Nicky's smile mirrors hers, and there's a kindness in her eyes that is only ever there when she's looking at Lorna, and suddenly she can't stop thinking about how obvious it should have been, but it wasn't, and now they only have four days. Four fucking days.

"It had to come from you, kid," Nicky says softly, running her hands through her hair, brushing it back off her face, "I couldn't take advantage of you, not after everything. I meant it when I said I was gonna help you."

Lorna gulps, nodding fiercely. She has helped her. She has. Every single day since everything with Christopher came out, Nicky's been right there, right by her side. And she's been better. She's kept the crazy thoughts contained. She's been calm, because she's had her Nicky. But in four days time...

"What are we gonna do with you?" she chuckles, inching closer and cupping Lorna's face in her hands, drawing her nearer, "we really fucked this thing up, huh?" She rests her forehead on Lorna's, and their mouths are so close, and all she wants is to close the gap, but she can't. She can't. Four days. Four fucking days.

"I dunno what I'm going to do without you," Lorna says, and it's been a long moment of silence, but they knew it was coming and from the sigh Nicky makes, she knows it was only a matter of time.

"You do whatever you need to survive."

* * *

They don't make any promises to each other. They're there already, in the way Nicky touches her, kisses her, holds her. They don't have sex. It's not about sex, not like it was before. Lorna has come to accept that as soon as Nicky's on the outside, she's going to be back to hooking up with any girl that takes her fancy, but that's fine. So long as Lorna doesn't have to know faces, names. Better that than the alternative, she thinks, Nicky's words ringing in her ears.

The day arrives and she puts on a brave face. She wakes up, and she takes the toilet paper out of her hair, brushes it, applies make up, and smiles in the mirror taped to her cube's wall. The smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, but she's trying, and when she turns around, Nicky's standing awkwardly watching her, and her smile isn't quite genuine either.

"Today's the day, huh?" Lorna says, aiming for cheerful, but not quite hitting the mark.

"Yeah," shifting awkwardly, Nicky seems to – for the first time – not know what to say, "uh, listen, Morello..."

Lorna shakes her head adamantly, reaching for Nicky's arm with a touch that's so light that it's barely even there, "don't you worry about me, okay, this is your day."

Breakfast is weird. Nicky's the quietest anyone's ever seen her, and she ignores everyone's jokes, everyone's excitement for her big day. She pokes at her food and won't meet anyone's eye, and eventually conversation changes direction. Slipping her hand under the table, Lorna touches Nicky's knee, squeezing gently. It's such an unusual gesture that Nicky immediately turns to look at her. They don't say anything, but it's understood.

They're leaving the food hall when Nicky pulls Lorna to one side, and for a second she looks so fragile that Lorna's heart skips a beat.

"Come to my bunk... just... lie with me a while?"

Lorna nods, "of course."

* * *

Of course there's a party. Lorna sits in the corner feeling uncomfortable and empty, trying to focus on anything that will stop her from crying. Nicky's distant, but she's a lot more herself than she was in the morning, cracking jokes, messing around. It hasn't sunk in that she's really going. It doesn't. Not even when the C/Os arrive to tell Lorna to get the van ready.

She doesn't usually take people out, just in, but she figures Nicky's an exception. She doesn't know how she's going to keep her mind on the road, and her fingers are shaking as she starts the engine, but she doesn't cry. They send her with Bennett, and okay he probably doesn't know the ins and outs of everything, but he is sensible enough to keep quiet, doesn't mention Lorna's erratic and slow driving, or the way Nicky keeps exhaling loudly on the backseat.

They arrive and normally Lorna wouldn't be allowed out of the van, but Bennett goes round and opens the door for her, and she slides out, worried that her legs are going to give way any second.

"Ready?" she whispers, and Nicky nods, and she can see tears in her eyes, and she can't remember a time when Nicky's ever cried before. It makes the whole thing so much worse.

"Take care of yourself okay. I expect a call at least twice a week," she cups Lorna's head, tangles her fingers in her hair.

Lorna nods hard, and when Nicky eventually pulls her closer, she lets the tears she's been holding in finally fall as she wraps her arms around her. In the silence, she can hear Nicky sniffing and it's such a foreign sound. Eventually, she pulls away, and Nicky kisses her forehead, and Bennett's voice in the background (far far away) quietly tells them that she needs to go, but Nicky doesn't let go. She rubs Lorna's tears away, kisses her cheek, her nose, her mouth. Then, finally, she lets go.

"I've gotta go. You'll be okay, yeah? You'll be alright?"

She nods again, but she can feel the tears streaming down her face, betraying her. Nicky smiles sadly, squeezes her hand, and turns to go with Bennett. She's less than five steps away when Lorna calls after her.

"I love you," she says, before she's really had a chance to think about it, and her cheeks flush pink, but she doesn't take it back.

Nicky turns to look at her, and she's got smudges of mascara down her cheeks, but she's smiling. She nods, biting her lip, "you too kid, you too."

And she's gone.

* * *

Time moves slowly without her. Lorna can't work out what to fill her days with, realising that she used to plan almost everything around Nicky. The food hall is quieter, and she has no place to sit. The shower line in the mornings seems longer without Nicky cracking jokes beside her. She can't bear to even consider movie night. She sleeps a lot. Or tries to. In all honesty, she hasn't been sleeping so well, but she's certainly in bed long enough. Mostly, she lies in her empty cube, Nicky's sweater pulled up close to her face, and wishes time would move faster.

It's two weeks before she even gets a phone number for Nicky, and in that time, she's thought of so many things she wants to ask her, but when it comes to it, her mind goes blank. She dials the number and tries to block out everyone around her, and when Nicky picks up with a 'hey you' she has to lean against the wall to keep upright.

They talk about nothing and everything. Nothing's happened inside, and very little seems to have happened outside. Nicky's positive, but she sounds like she's trying too hard. They don't talk about anything heavy (their relationship, drugs, sex, Lorna's mental health... it's all too difficult). She's living in an apartment owned by her parents. She's eaten nothing but tacos all week (Lorna laughs 'bet you miss Red's eggs' 'not even a tiny bit') and watched trash on the TV, and kept completely to herself. Lorna eventually has to go, and they say goodbye like it's nothing, but as soon as it's over, Lorna wants to reach for the phone and call again and again and again.

It gets easier. In this case, the cliché is true.

Things aren't exactly 'normal', but they're more normal than they have been. Yoga in the mornings, scrabble and card games in the afternoons. A phone call to Nicky twice a week, just like she promised (sometimes more; Lorna gets impatient). She helps out in the kitchen before meals. Red's taken her under her wing, and she can't help but wonder if Nicky's said something to her, but either way, it's giving her something constructive to do, so she doesn't complain.

She's got her cheerful spirit back, anyway. Inmates continue to arrive, filling the empty seats at their lunch table, and she stops thinking of it as Nicky's seat, stops thinking of her bunk as hers, but can't quite stop missing her.

"Nicky's got a job," she says, one afternoon whilst they're supposed to be making Halloween crafts.

"Really? Good for her! See, I knew she'd be alright out there," Yoga Jones smiles at her, before returning to making ghosts out of tissue.

"Yeah, I'm real proud of her. Real proud," Lorna looks down at her own paper and can't help but beam, "she sees Chapman all the time, y'know. All the time. Going for coffee and doing grocery shoppin' together. That kinda thing. Real nice."

She's interrupted by Boo practically throwing the magazine she was flicking through at her. Startled, Lorna drops her pen and glares across the table.

"I'm so sick of this. It was bad enough when it was always 'Christuffuh this', 'Christuffuh that', but now Nichols too? I mean would ya give it a break? She tell you everything? She tell you how much pussy she's pounding out there too?"

Lorna feels a lump beginning to form in the back of her throat as she defensively clenches her jaw, "don't talk about her like that ok..."

"Like what? Like she actually is? News flash little Lorna Doone, Nichols aint the saint you make her out to be. You really think she's, what, savin' herself for when your ass gets out of here? I mean come _on."_

"It's not- it's not like that," she's on her feet, knocking paper and crayons and magazines on the floor in her haste to get away, "you shut up about things you don't know about Boo, you just... shut up okay?"

* * *

She leans against the wall and her fingers are tapping against the concrete and she can't quite stand still, and she waits and waits and waits for what seems like an eternity.

"Hey, kid, it's not one of our days for-"

"I love you," Lorna blurts, and she can feel the bile rising her throat as she says the words she's promised herself she won't say again and there's this horrible silence on the other side of the phone and _you've done it again, you're doing it again. _She squeezes her eyes closed and she's pressing the phone so tight to her face that her ear is ringing and there'll be an indent on her cheek later.

"Lorna..." she starts, but she doesn't finish and the word hangs between them awkwardly.

"I never made you make me any promises... I wouldn't do that to you... but I wanted you to know, y'know? I know you need the sex, and the girls, and whatever else helps you survive out there, but I just want you to know that when I get out of here... when I... that I want to be with you. I _want to be with you_, okay?"

There's an awkward silence and Lorna feels like she's suffocating in it. She clings to the receiver, and waits and waits and waits.

"I know," Nicky finally says, and it's so quiet and unusually soft for her that Lorna wonders if she dreamt it, "I know. I know all those things, Lorna."

She doesn't know how Nicky could have possibly known because she wasn't even sure herself until right this moment. But it doesn't matter because she isn't saying it back, and Lorna can't stop the words from repeating in her head _you're doing it again, you're doing it again, _and she's fighting back tears, and it was bad enough when she knew she was going to have to be alone for the next three months, but now she's really screwed things up. Now, she's going to be alone forever, because she couldn't keep her mouth closed, couldn't keep her mind busy on other things and-

"I don't... know how to say it back," Nicky says after a silence that's too long.

"Huh?" she squeaks.

"I've never, y'know, said it..." she sighs, and she sounds so awkward, so small, that Lorna almost forgets who she's speaking to, "but I do know this: every morning you are the first thing I think about, you're the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I'm counting the days down until you're out here, alright? And there's not been any girls – and believe me, I could get girls... it could be fucking raining pussy here for me, okay – but I don't want any of it. I'm staying strong for you Lorna Morello. And you've gotta stay strong for me too, y'hear me?"

Lorna nods, and then remembers that Nicky can't see her, and somewhere along the line she's started crying and she doesn't know how to stop, "I will. I am. I promise."

"You're the only thing getting me through the day, y'know? Ask Chapman – she's fucking sick of hearing about you."

Laughing, Lorna wipes her tears away with her free hand, "same here... Boo... the others. Even Red."

"Yeah right, Red could never be sick of hearin' about me," she can almost see Nicky smiling on the other side of the phone, "but it's good to hear it. It's only three months, alright kid? Three months. You just gotta keep going for three months."

"I can do it," she says bravely, standing up taller.

"I know you can."

* * *

Her last day is so different from Nicky's.

They have a party and there's streamers and banners and a cake, and Lorna's always enjoyed being the centre of attention, but not today. The music's too loud and it's making it difficult to think. Time isn't moving fast enough and she's antsy and she knows she should be cataloguing everything about Litchfield for later but she's struggling to care about any of it. She just can't believe that the day has finally arrived and that she's survived this long.

Red takes her to one side just before she has to go, and she knows exactly what the older woman is going to say before she does it, but the words are there nonetheless, and hearing them makes it so much more real.

"Look after my Nicky," she says firmly, and Lorna pretends not to notice the tears in Red's eyes when she reaches to hug her.

Franny insists on picking her up in her beat up Mercedes, the kids screaming in the back, and Lorna can't help but feel like a completely different person when she pulls on the clothes she brings with her. They're too loose on her, and they feel too trashy ('what? You loved this dress when you bought it?!') and she's constantly trying to pull the hem down, can't stop fidgeting with her hair. She doesn't even think Nicky's going to be there (they haven't discussed it, didn't make any arrangements), but the possibility that she might is filling her with excitement and dread at the same time, and Franny's kids just _won't shut up_ to let her think, and suddenly it's all too much and she thinks she's going to pass out, or puke, or something worse.

Stepping outside of the gates for the first time is kinda horrible. Lorna feels like the air is being sucked out of her lungs. She's got so many questions, so many anxieties that won't shut up in the back of her head, and wearing clothes that aren't comfortable and beige, and don't smell like cheap citrus wash powder, doesn't feel right, and a part of her wants to turn around and run back inside. At least in there, she knows who she is, what she does, what her routine is gonna be each day. Outside holds too many uncertainties. There are too many things that could go wrong, the space around her is too big.

Then, she sees her.

She's sitting on a brick wall a little way down the street, far enough that she doesn't look like she's waiting, but it's unmistakably her. Her legs are kicking awkwardly at the brick beneath her feet and there's a cigarette dangling between her fingers, and Lorna feels a lump forming in her throat. Franny's talking, but she's not listening, and she pulls away, mutters a 'just a sec', and before she really knows what she's doing, she's practically running down the street, ignoring her sister calling after her.

"Hey," Nicky says, and even now, Lorna can't quite believe it is definitely her.

"You're wearing a skirt."

She chuckles, stubbing out her cigarette and jumping down from the wall, "Columbo's got nothin' on you, kid."

"And you're really here," she whispers, reaching to touch her, loosely running her fingers over the fabric of Nicky's blazer.

"Yeah,"

Lorna pulls her into a tight hug, and she can feel tears in her eyes as she takes in her familiar scent, only mildly diluted by whatever perfume she's wearing, and the way she feels in her arms, and the way her hair feels against her face. She can hear Nicky's pulse beating steadily next to hers, feel her breath on the back of her neck, and if today's all about going home, then Lorna's already got there.

"I missed you," she says, her fingers tangling in Nicky's hair.

"Yeah? I didn't miss you," Nicky replies with a low laugh, and Lorna swats at her.

They pull apart for just a moment, and she thinks Nicky's studying her because she's unusually quiet, and still. Her fingers brush loose strands of dark hair away from her face, letting her hand linger on her cheek.

"Course I missed you," she draws Lorna closer, brushes their noses together, and then kisses her.

"You must be Nicky."

The voice startles them apart and Lorna can feel her face flush as she turns to find Franny standing behind them. She's half expecting her sister to be mad, but the look on her face, if anything, is one of relief. _She's probably thinking 'oh, good, this one exists'._ Lorna smiles tightly.

"Nicky, my sister Franny." she gestures between them, feeling Nicky's arm wrap around her waist.

"Nice to finally meet you, heard a lot about you," Nicky says, holding her hand out.

Franny takes it, smiling, "yeah, you too."

"Mostly bad, I hope."

"You know it," Lorna says, laughing awkwardly.

"Hey, you gonna come for dinner? I'll get the kids to squash up in the car. It's taco night. You like tacos?"

"I love tacos," Nicky replies honestly, and Lorna feels herself stiffen a little. She doesn't say anything, but she's hoping the look she's giving Nicky is enough to say 'you don't have to' without words.

"Well you gotta taste my Pops'. We Morello's aint good for much, but we sure can cook, right Lorna?"

Lorna shifts uneasily, "well, y'know, Nicky probably doesn't-"

"I dunno, my ma is a pretty mean chef," Nicky interjects, "in both senses of the word. But she can't quite get tacos. Russians aren't exactly renowned for them, y'know?"

"Nor are Italians!"

Franny's laughing and Nicky's grinning at her, and Lorna thinks that she should be worrying about what her Catholic parents are gonna think of bringing her lesbian girlfriend home for dinner (is that what she is? They've never discussed it. The thought makes her insides feel funny, but in a good way), but she's too ensconced in watching Nicky and Franny together, enjoying the feel of Nicky's warm body tight next to hers. And okay, so things might never be "normal" again, but she decides she doesn't care. Normal is overrated anyways. What's that cliché? Home is where the heart is? Well, Lorna definitely knows where her heart is, and it's here, now, squashed into a car with her two favourite people on earth. And she knows it's going to be a struggle, and there are gonna be days where she doesn't know what to do with herself, but she decides that maybe that's okay.

Whatever you need to survive.


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: So I guess this was inevitable. I think this story asked more questions than it answered, and this is almost the fic I originally planned to write (almost). Anyway, I'm opening what was meant to be a one-shot, up into a multi-chapter exploring Lorna and Nicky's time outside of prison. It's not gonna be a walk in the park. Apologies for any typos – I've barely slept lately. Please do let me know if you notice any.

* * *

Lorna moves straight back into her old room.

It's not that she doesn't want to live with Nicky when she offers, more that she knows living with her would result in hours and hours of sex and very little else, and she's got to get herself back on her feet, gotta sort out a real life for herself outside of Litchfield, and can do without the distraction.

(The sex will still happen, though, of course).

Her room doesn't feel right anymore. She peels the pages and pages of magazine clippings off her walls, the boards of wedding plans that were never anything more than a lie, and it makes her feel sick seeing it all again. She leaves the West Side Story poster, and makes a mental note to try and take a picture with Nicky at some point so she can tack that up, make her walls a little less blank, a little less like her prison cube. It's therapeutic though; a fresh start, a blank slate. She dumps the old Lorna's life into a trash bag, ties a knot, and throws it all away.

Her wardrobe is full of clothes she doesn't want to wear, and shoes that are probably worth more than the rest of her family's belongings combined, but that now feel cheap and trashy. She salvages a few tops, her favourite pair of skinny jeans, digs out comfy old clothes that haven't seen the light of day in years, and bags up the rest for throwing out. The trash bags are a stark reminder of everything that's happened and she doesn't want to have to look at them any longer, so she grabs them both and heads towards the door, opening it, and stopping when she hears voices outside her room.

"So what, she's fixed now?"

Franny sighs, "I don't think it works like that, but she seems better, right? Healthier."

"I can't believe she fucks girls now."

"Hey, it's not like she's a dyke... she's just confused. You know how she gets. At least this girl exists, and is actually kinda into her. It makes a nice change, right?"

Lorna can't bear to listen to it anymore, and stumbles away from the door, feeling the all too familiar surge of tears. _They're right. What am I doing? It's happening again. _Being in this house is dangerous. It's been close to three years, but she knows where all her old vices are, knows that if she digs around under her bed there's a box there that could take away the pain, the voices, the tightness in her chest.

But she also knows that it's only a temporary fix, and she'll wind up feeling worse after, so she leaves it. (She doesn't throw it away though, not with everything else, and that definitely says something about her lack of progress.)

She decides, instead, that she needs to see Nicky. The same Nicky who only left her house a couple of hours ago, to give her 'some time to adjust', promising to see her later in the week. Lorna knows it's a sign of weakness to call her already, but she needs to get away from the constant reminders of who she was, who her family still see her as. She's digging herself a hole; how can she get herself better if she goes from one vice to the next? But she can't think straight, and Nicky is the only person who can help, and even if she can't, she can fuck her until she forgets, and that seems preferable at this moment in time.

Nicky answers on the second ring, and Lorna's scribbling down an address and directions, and grabbing her coat and keys, heading out into the night without so much as a 'goodbye' to her sister.

Driving something other than the prison transport van feels weird. Franny's bashed up Mercedes has a rusty sounding engine that disagrees with the way Lorna turns the key, and the pedals are too far away from her feet, even when she brings the seat all the way forward. But, it's a car, and there's something incredibly calming about being able to drive wherever you want to after years of incarceration. She's never been particularly great at reading a map, and as soon as she opens it, she can't help but flick to the section for Albany, even though she knows she shouldn't, and this isn't about him. She swallows, forcing the map back into the glove compartment, and squeezing her eyes closed. There's too much going on in her head, and it's dark outside, the little red numbers on the dashboard telling her it's nearly midnight, and she doesn't know where she's going.

She slows the car down, grabbing her phone from the passenger's seat and finding Nicky's name in her call log. She doesn't want to call her – it's been an hour; she doesn't want to keep doing _this_ – but she's beginning to panic, and it's just starting to rain, and she hasn't slept in at least 48 hours, so she does. Nicky picks up immediately, tells her to pull over. She'll come and find her. Lorna can feel tears in her eyes as she tries to describe her surroundings, but everything looks the same in the dark, and even Nicky's voice isn't calming her in the way it usually does.

She falls asleep. Someone taps on the glass of her window and she screams, can't work out where she is, only knows that this doesn't look like Litchfield, and she's not in her bunk.

It comes back to her slowly, and she winds the window down to find Nicky standing out in the rain, looking like a cat whose spent all night waiting to be let in. She doesn't ask how she got here, doesn't object when Nicky tells her to go round to the passenger side, and within a few minutes, she's asleep again, face pressed against the cold glass, her mind filled with thoughts of C/Os and paper streamers and only-just-about-thawed waffles.

When she wakes the second time, she's more aware of her surroundings. They're outside an apartment block in a part of town where loft spaces cost more than her family home does, and Nicky's got the window open, exhaling smoke, tapping her fingers distractedly on the door she's resting against, her hair pulled back into a ponytail (Lorna's never seen it that way, thinks it makes her look younger, but doesn't suit her), and, only then, does Lorna realise she's wearing pyjamas.

"Hey."

Nicky stubs her cigarette out and turns to her, looking weary and tired and worried, "hey sleepin' beauty, nice of you to join us."

Rubbing her eyes, Lorna attempts a smile at her, but she's all too aware that it's 1am and she doesn't know what they're doing, and she's been out of prison for less than 24 hours and she's already fucked it up.

"Nicky-" she starts, not really knowing what to say, but knowing she needs to apologise, at least attempt to explain herself.

"We goin' in, or do you wanna sit out here all night?"

Lorna manages a tight lipped smile as Nicky winds the window up (it squeaks, which is actually a nice contrast to the otherwise awkward silence), and steps out of the car, going over to her side, and opening the door for her.

The apartment is as fancy inside as it is out, and Lorna can't help but feel uncomfortable, like she shouldn't be touching anything in case she makes it dirty. Nicky, on the other hand, clearly doesn't care, dropping onto the couch and resting her converse-clad shoes on the coffee table. At closer inspection, there are so many little glimpses of Nicky around the large living area, that they almost outweigh the rich upholstery and too-clean floors. A pizza box under the table, a stack of CDs messily on the side, a whole bunch of dirty cups and plates. A blanket is curled up in the corner of the couch, like maybe Nicky spends more time sleeping here than in her bed. Lorna sits down heavily, her fingers automatically stroking at the soft knit, even as she looks at Nicky.

"Sorry it's so late," she murmurs.

Nicky's looking intently at her, her brow creased, and she hasn't stopped worrying since she got the phone call. Lorna can tell from the way she keeps twitching, keeping her fingers busy, a particular darkness in her eyes.

"Hey, it's cool – you know me, I don't really sleep."

"Me either," Lorna admits, although she knows she used to, remembers actually feeling kinda at home in prison where she had a routine, a set time to sleep, a set time to get up.

They're silent, and it's awkward, and she can't remember a time it's ever been awkward sitting in silence with Nicky, and it makes her want to throw up. Like, maybe this is her life now. Maybe, on the outside, she's quiet and awkward and unhappy, and doesn't sleep.

"It's so quiet out here," Nicky says after a moment, "y'know, I've been out for six months, and I still haven't got used to how quiet it is."

"I thought I'd like being back in the noise of my own home," Lorna agrees, picking at the blanket that she's subconsciously dragged onto her lap, "but it doesn't feel like home anymore."

She knows Nicky's aching to tell her, again, to stay, but she also knows that she can't. She's going to have to face her sister, her parents, soon enough. She just has to take it slow. She was naïve to think she could do this all in one go, go back to normal like nothing had happened, immerse herself in her old life without a second thought. (She doesn't want her old life back; she really, truly doesn't).

"Something really ain't right with me, Nick," she whispers, and just admitting it takes all the air out of her lungs. Sure, Nicky knows. She knows better than most people. She knows about Christopher, and about Angela, and about everything else. But they haven't talked about it, not really, and now that she's outside, she knows they have to. _I can't do this to someone again. I can't do it. Not to her._

"It's your first day," Nicky says, pulling Lorna towards her, letting her head fall to her shoulder, "we don't need to talk about this. Not today."

"Have to talk about it eventually."

"I know, but not today, alright kid?"

* * *

She wakes up to missed calls, voicemails, text messages... Franny's in a panic and she knows it's because her sister thinks she's gone off the rails again, but Lorna can't quite bring herself to care. She turns her phone off and rolls over, tucking herself back into Nicky's side. It's the first time they've slept together in the real meaning of the word. She realises that, Franny aside, she's never shared a bed with anyone at all, and now that she has, she never wants to sleep alone again. Nicky's still asleep, and she feels soft and warm, and it's not long before Lorna drifts off again, only to wake a few minutes later to the foreign sound of Nicky's alarm.

"Fuck," the other girl mumbles, slamming her hand on the night stand, reaching around for her phone.

"Good morning to you too," Lorna says, surprising herself with how cheerful she sounds this morning.

The annoyance fades out of Nicky's eyes and she draws Lorna closer, greeting her with a lazy kiss, before falling back onto the pillow with a smug smile on her lips. Lorna can't help but giggle, even as she settles down on Nicky's chest, pulling the duvet up around them.

"I have to go to work," Nicky says, but she makes no effort to move.

"Mmmhmm."

"I do. As much as I'd love to stay here and fuck you all day-"

Lorna sits up and looks down at her with a faux look of innocence, "hey hey I never said nothin' about that."

"Yeah, but you were thinking it," she grins, and Lorna swats at her, and it's strange how quickly they've gone back into this comfortable routine, but Lorna craves familiarity, or she wouldn't have come here. She rests back on her chest, and she traces patterns on Nicky's skin with her index finger, feels the steady pulse beneath her head, Nicky's breath on her face, and it's not familiar at all, but at the same time it really really is, and Lorna tells herself she's never going home.

(She knows she's going to have to.)

"Can I stay here until you finish?" she asks, hopefully, looking up at Nicky with a goofy smile.

"Do your folks know where you are?"

She doesn't need to answer, the look on her face is answer enough, and Nicky sighs, and Lorna can't help but feel her heart sink. The one person she never wants to disappoint is disappointed in her. She moves away, turns onto her side so her back is to Nicky, and snuggles into the duvet, desperately trying not to cry.

"You have to go home eventually," Nicky says, and her voice doesn't sound disappointed, just concerned. She moves closer, lies so that she's cradled around Lorna, presses a kiss to the back of her neck.

"I know."

"At least call them, tell them where you are."

Lorna shakes her head, "they don't understand. They don't get it. I don't... I don't belong there no more."

"Hey, come here," she rolls Lorna so that she's facing her, cups her face in her hands, kisses her forehead, then meets her eyes, "they're family, alright Morello? You got a family who love you and want to look after you. I see the way they look at you, kid. I've never once had that in my life, y'know? You've been gone a long time. A lot of shit has happened. It's gonna take time for you to readjust, and you gotta understand... they have to get used to having you back, too."

She doesn't know what to say, so Lorna stays quiet, staring intently into Nicky's eyes. She's always loved Nicky's ability to say things exactly how they are, no sugar-coating. She knows Nicky wouldn't lie to her. She just can't quite convince herself that what she's saying is true.

"You can stay here until I get back, okay? But you've gotta ring them, tell them where you are. And I'm taking you back there tonight."

Unable to think of a substantial argument, Lorna just nods glumly, and Nicky kisses her once more before she slides out of bed, busying herself with getting ready for work. Lorna sighs. This isn't how she imagined her first day of freedom to look. She suddenly feels too warm under the heavy duvet, like the bed is too soft and too clean, and she pushes the covers off. Nicky's in the bathroom – she can hear her humming something whilst she brushes her teeth – and Lorna realises that that alone is strange. She can hear running water from the bed. The room is light, and now that she takes a moment to take a proper look around, she sees a few piles of clothes, a couple of empty Chinese take-out boxes. Nicky's walls are blank and white and it might not look like Litchfield in the slightest, but the room is still too empty, and Lorna feels so small in it that she has to get out.

"Hey hey, where you goin'?" Nicky asks around a mouthful of toothpaste as she sees Lorna run past her, and Lorna stops, not knowing where she's going, or what she's doing. She feels like she's suffocating in an empty void. Finally, Nicky takes her by the shoulders and snaps her out of it.

"I-I don't-" Lorna is trying desperately not to cry again, and she's well aware that it's been _less than 24 hours_ and she's already acting crazy and it's only a matter of time before Nicky snaps, just like everyone else does, and she's in this way-too-big world all by herself.

"I'm taking you home," Nicky states, letting go of her, and taking her tooth brush back to the sink.

"You have work," her voice is small and it doesn't sound like it's coming from her, and the room's spinning, and she doesn't want to argue any longer, but she has to because she's not ruining Nicky's life too. She can't.

"Screw work."

* * *

Ten minutes later, they're in Franny's car. Nicky's in her work clothes, but Lorna's still wearing the old t-shirt she borrowed the night before, and a pair of shorts, her hair all over the place. She realises too late that she left her phone on Nicky's floor, but it doesn't seem to matter, not in the grand scale of things.

In true Nicky style, she turns the car radio up full volume, and she's driving too fast, and if Lorna didn't feel sick before, she definitely does, but she can't tell her to slow down because that would involve speaking, and she's not sure she can do that right now.

When they arrive, Nicky leaves her in the car, and Lorna watches as she knocks on the Morello's front door. She watches the interaction between Nicky and her sister, and feels nothing but shame when she sees the anger melt out of Franny's expression, replaced with one of concern. She squeezes Nicky's hand, and Lorna wants to shout at her to get off her, that she shouldn't pretend to be something she isn't, but she's frozen still in the car, and Franny's too far away.

Nicky helps her out, and her legs seem to walk her to the house by their own accord; it's certainly not Lorna controlling them. She can hear her sister talking, and Nicky answering, but their words are going straight over her head, and she's in a daze, staring at everything and nothing at the same time, only snapped out of it when Nicky takes her hand, squeezes it, and drops a kiss onto her forehead.

"I'll see you soon, alright? Chapman wants to take us out for lunch... but we'll wait, okay? Til you're a bit more... settled in? Morello?"

She nods, her throat too dry to speak, and she wants to close her eyes and pretend like today never happened because the one person who has always believed in her, who has always seen past the crazy, has finally seen her for the monster she really is, and now she can't bear to live with herself. But she nods, and when Nicky hugs her, she hugs back, and as she walks inside, she can't help but throw a look over her shoulder, with a soft "hey, Nichols?"

"Yeah, kid?"

She smiles a little, "nice uniform."

Nicky sticks her middle finger up at her with that ridiculous lop-sided smirk of hers, and Lorna can only hope that maybe things will go back to normal for them once she's sorted herself out. (If she sorts herself out.)

"You scared us half to death Lor. You can't do that, okay? You can't take my car and drive off and not tell us where you're going. Jesus Christ. I don't need this, okay, my stress levels are already high enough raising two kids by myself but... Lorna, would you at least listen to me?"

She hasn't even realised she was zoning out, but she snaps back out of it when her sister physically shakes her, and the look of horror in Franny's eyes makes her heart sink even further.

"I love you," Franny says, squeezing her arm, "I know you don't believe me, but I do. I'm only trying to look out for my baby sister, y'know? But you gotta throw me a break every now and again. Jesus, Lorna, you look like shit."

"You don't like her," she finally lets out.

"Who?"

"Nicky."

As if she wasn't already sure enough, the way Franny's cheeks flush dark scarlet confirms every suspicion, and Lorna's jaw clenches. _She didn't like Christopher either._ The thought is there before she can swallow it, and it's followed by a moment of panic that makes Lorna's heart race. She's known the differentiation for weeks now, months. She blinks, like maybe that will help her mind to settle, the fuzziness to dissipate, but she can't stop thinking _this isn't happening _and she wants Nicky, but she's also glad she's not here to witness it. Too late, she realises Franny's been talking, and she's just completely zoned out from the whole thing.

"...so, you see, we just wanna understand. You gotta see where we're coming from. You like guys. We know you like guys. Chr- you've always liked guys," Franny says, and she stumbles over the last words, like saying Christopher's name in this house is somehow dirty, like just mentioning him might trigger her, force all those thoughts and feelings to come back.

_It wasn't real it wasn't real it wasn't real._

"Lorna?"

_Focus on Nicky. Nicky's real. Nicky and her beautiful smile and her long, thick eyelashes, and her big brown eyes. The way Nicky says your name. The way she feels, smells, tastes. The sound she makes when you touch her just there. The way she-_

"Lorna!"

Franny's shaking her again, and she can feel tears clouding her vision, and she needs to lie down. Needs to somehow collect her thoughts.

What she really needs, she thinks, is to be back at Litchfield, driving her van, cracking jokes, eating burnt sausages and watery eggs, peeling potatoes in Red's kitchen, arguing with Boo, giggling with Nicky.

_Nicky Nicky Nicky._

Lorna squeezes her eyes closed. She needs to stop thinking about her. Needs to stop thinking at all.


	3. Chapter Three

A/N: Short chapter... if you're thinking 'does this girl do anything but write fic?!' then the answer is: no, I really don't. I wanted to write a bit of a fluffier, happier chapter before we go dark again, so here it is. Thank you again for all your lovely reviews – they really mean the world to me.

* * *

Lorna doesn't phone Nicky. She couldn't even if she wanted to because her phone's somewhere under Nicky's bed, buried under pizza boxes and dirty underwear, and she's lost the scrap of paper with her number on it. She decides it's probably for the best; she needs a few days to figure herself out, work out what she's going to do, get back on her feet. After her initial breakdown, she's been better, she thinks. Waking up in a bed that isn't stiff and unmade, and doesn't consist of nothing more than a thin blanket, is a mind-fuck every morning, but it's taking less and less time for her to work out where she is. She scribbles down a day to day schedule for herself and tapes it to her mirror, hoping that that will sort her head out a bit, but she knows her family won't appreciate her timing their mealtimes, so she'll have to get used to eating alone. She schedules showers, meals, 'recreation time' (reading, television, listening to music; all things that feel wrong being done alone, but she has to get used to loneliness), and an hour every day for her to leave the house in. She doesn't want to wind up afraid of going outside. She starts off slow, walking to the end of the street, to a magazine stand one afternoon, going two blocks over to a convenience store the next. It's a lonely little world she's created for herself, but she's no longer drowning in her own thoughts, so it's progress.

During the day, it's quiet in the Morello house, for possibly the first time in Lorna's life. Her dad's at work. Franny's at work. The kids are at school. Her brothers moved out when their mother passed. It's just Lorna, but that's okay. She thinks she needs the quiet.

On the sixth day, she opens her front door to find Nicky standing outside, wearing a tight black dress, Doc Martens, and a leather jacket. Her hair's tamer than usual (she's having to actually keep it somewhat neat for work), but she has that same lop-sided smirk on her face, the one that Lorna fell in love with months ago, and her eyes are bright, and Lorna can't help but smile at the sight of her.

"Comin' out to play, kid?" she asks, leaning against the front door frame.

It's not the scheduled time for going out, but she thinks 'to heck with the list' and lets Nicky in whilst she goes to change into something that isn't pyjamas. She opts for skinny jeans and a black tank-top, scoops her hair up into a neat ponytail, applies her trademark red lipstick, and feels more like herself than she has in days.

"Where we goin'?" she asks as she saunters into the living room where Nicky's watching television, Franny's kid's cat curled up in her lap.

"Somewhere this thing isn't," she says, poking her thumb in the direction of the feline, but Lorna can tell from the glint in her eyes that she's secretly enjoying the attention, "I was thinking the park? Grab some slices, a beer, get some fresh air."

"The park? You don't seem the feeding the ducks kind Nichols. And besides, you're not meant to be drinking, are you?"

Nicky rolls her eyes, "what are you, my mother? I'll have you know, I'm fucking great at feeding ducks. I love that shit."

Lorna laughs as Nicky tries (and fails) to shoo Gingersnap off her lap ('this thing must have misunderstood me when I said I love pussy') and once the cat is angrily glaring at them from an otherwise-empty couch, they head out. Lorna finds herself automatically slipping her hand into Nicky's, and they walk like that the whole way to the park, like it's second nature.

They wind up getting ice-cream and sitting by the duck pond, though they have no bread to throw. Nicky's shrugs off her jacket, and once Lorna's finished eating, she lies down, her head in Nicky's lap, watching the ducks splash about. Being in the park feels good, feels normal. The surroundings are completely different, but if she closes her eyes, the noise reminds her of home. Of Litchfield.

"Remember Red and the chicken?" Nicky says, after a moment of easy silence, and they both laugh, recalling just one of many ridiculous prison hijinks. It feels comforting to look back on it and be able to laugh, but Lorna's chest suddenly feels heavy with how much she misses everyone at Litchfield. It's strange; she spent the last few months desperate to get out, to get back to Nicky, but now that she's outside, she wishes more than anything that she was still in there.

"I can't believe Chapman's friend didn't talk to her for like a week over that stupid chicken," she joins in, looking up at Nicky and smiling broadly. She sees the same look in Nicky's eyes that she's sure is shining in hers; nostalgia, wistfulness. Wishing for something they both know they shouldn't wish for.

"She lost a fucking business deal over that chicken," Nicky says, but her voice is soft, like maybe it isn't a joke anymore, like her heart isn't in it anymore.

Lorna's smile fades, "how is she? Chapman, I mean?"

The slight change in subject is obviously welcomed as Nicky's expression softens, "yeah, she's good. Eager to see you for some reason. I told her you're not really worth it, but you know how she is."

Elbowing Nicky in the knee, Lorna laughs, but can't help but feel a little pang of worry at the thought of spending time with someone who isn't Nicky. Of course she wants to see Piper, feels guilty that she hasn't so much as spoken to her since she got out, but at the same time, she can't help but feel weird about it. Nicky's been seeing her once or twice a week, for months. Lorna can't help but wonder what she's shared with her, how much Piper knows.

"Hey, we don't have to rush into it, she understands," Nicky tells her, as if she might have been reading her mind. She tangles her fingers in Lorna's hair, and Lorna closes her eyes, relaxing into Nicky's touch. She's peaceful for a moment, but then she's reminded of the last time they were this close, and it makes her want to vomit.

"I'm sorry," she says, sitting up and meeting Nicky's eyes, "about the other day, I mean. That wasn't fair on you, I'm not worth-"

Nicky silences her with a soft kiss and it takes Lorna by surprise, but she sinks into it, lets herself get wrapped up in Nicky, in the way she feels against her skin, the way she tastes, smells. She knows Nicky doesn't like to talk, would prefer to solve their problems this way, and that's okay, Lorna realises. Maybe not talking about it is better. Maybe this way they can move forward, pretend like it didn't happen.

"I don't have a bad word to say about you, Lorna Morello," Nicky says when she pulls back, her hands still cupping Lorna's face, brushing her thumbs over the soft skin of her cheekbones, "please remember that when you're feeling like you haven't got any worth on this shit-hole planet. You're worth something to me. A lot, actually."

She wants to say 'I love you', but she knows Nicky's not there yet, and she doesn't want to keep pushing it, keep making her uncomfortable. As many problems as Lorna has, she knows Nicky herself isn't exactly baggage-free. She doesn't ask about that though, not because she doesn't care, but because Nicky's never been particularly open about the drugs, not with Lorna at least, and it must be exhausting enough dealing with her, let alone having to open up about that too. She hopes, one day, soon preferably, she'll be stable enough that she'll be able to flip this thing around, that she'll be able to take care of Nicky. But then she's not exactly sure Nicky would ever let her.

Instead, she resorts to a language she knows Nicky will understand, paints a devious smile onto her face, and leans into her, kissing her jaw and whispering, "hey, how comes I've been out here for almost a week and we haven't fucked yet?"

A smirk grows on Nicky's face, and she's on her feet before Lorna can say "your place, or mine?", which kinda goes without saying because there's no chance in hell she's risking her dad walking in on them at home, and they're at Nicky's apartment, undressed, with her pinned against a wall, within twenty minutes.

* * *

_6pm is dinner time_, Lorna thinks to herself, quietly, as she stares at the clock by Nicky's bedside. She can't help it. The structure she's built herself is her safety blanket, and she can feel it slipping from her grip as the day drifts more and more from what she's scheduled. Nicky's sitting on the window ledge, smoking out of the window, and Lorna knows that just having her here should be enough, that the timetable shouldn't matter.

But, it does.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grabs a t-shirt from Nicky's floor and slips it over her head, drags her underwear up her legs, and positions herself in the doorway.

"You alright if I make dinner?"

Nicky casts her a look over her shoulder, and she looks beautiful with her hair all ruffled up, wearing a pyjama shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone, a familiar smirk tugging at her lips, "sure, if you can find some."

Heading down to the kitchen, Lorna gets what Nicky means as soon as she opens the refrigerator. A bottle of milk clangs about alone in the door, and the fridge itself is home to a mouldy slice of pizza, a half-eaten can of mac'n'cheese, a yoghurt, and two cans of coke. The freezer is just as disappointing. Lorna grabs the yoghurt, inspects the fruit bowl for a banana that isn't too brown, and sits herself down at the table. It's not exactly a feast, but she lived off prison food for nearly three years, so she can deal.

She's just finishing up the yoghurt when Nicky appears.

"We should go grab a hotdog," she says, running a hand through her hair.

"Uh, no, it's okay, I just ate-"

"Morello, you think I'd hear the end of this if Red knew I was feedin' you that shit? No way. Come on, get dressed, I know this great little place."

After what Lorna can only describe as a mediocre hotdog ('hey, I never said the food was great, but look at this place!'), they go for a walk around the city, and, a while later, Nicky drops Lorna home. She shouldn't be surprised when she's greeted by Franny looking about ready to kill her, but she sort-a, kind-a is. She waves Nicky goodbye, and prepares herself to argue (she may as well have scheduled that into her timetable, too), but Franny doesn't say anything, just closes the door and heads back to the kitchen.

Pops is watching TV with the kids in the living room, and the volume is up too high, the boys shouting over it, Lorna's father telling them to shut up, and Lorna immediately heads through to the kitchen, deciding she'd rather face her sister's wrath than sit through another sports argument. Franny's leaning against the counter, eyes closed, looking like she might break down any moment.

"Franny?" Lorna says quietly, feeling a pang of guilt in her chest, "everythin' alright?"

She's startled by the voice and turns, a not-quite-convincing-enough smile plastered on her face. Lorna's seen that smile before, not just on her sister's face, but her own. She knows it well enough to mean nothing good is going to come from this conversation.

"Nothin' for you to worry yourself about Lorna," she says quietly, squeezing her sister's shoulder, "you have a nice day out with Nicky?"

Lorna wants to gush over the day they had, the things they got up to, the conversations; everything, but it feels too familiar, and she wants to distance herself from the Lorna who lived here before Litchfield, so she doesn't. She smiles, nods, doesn't go into detail.

"I'm glad you have her. I mean that. It's difficult for us all to understand, y'know, and it might take us a while to... but I'm glad she's there. You really do seem better, Lorn."

They hug, and it's only slightly awkward, but when Lorna's back in her room, tearing the schedule off her mirror and stuffing it into the bin, she realises she still doesn't know what's wrong with her sister. She's always so wrapped up in her own problems, she has no idea what's going on with Franny, with the kids... with any of them.

Having retrieved her phone from Nicky's bedroom floor, she sends her a text goodnight and climbs into her bed, feeling like a rebel because it's 10:24 and bed is (was?) scheduled for 10. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she's out, and tomorrow's a new day.


	4. Chapter Four

A/N: someone suggested it was time for Piper to make an appearance, so here she is.

When Nicky says Piper wants to take them out for lunch, she imagines someplace fancy with loads of courses and multiple sets of cutlery, and napkins folded into birds that Lorna's too afraid to even touch, let alone spill something on. Chapman has money. Nicky has money. Lorna comes from a family where, up until recently, the kids were all sharing a room with their mother, and the electricity gets cut off once every 6 months cos they can't afford to pay the bill. She was dreading it, trying to recall what knife and fork was for what, hoping she would be able to find something on the menu that was in English so she wouldn't have to embarrass herself too much.

So, when Nicky picks her up, and pulls into _Olive Garden_, she feels nothing but relief.

Cheap Italian food, she can handle. Now, the only thing causing her anxiety is the thought of seeing Chapman herself.

She's been okay lately. Better. They're on week three, and she's not had any more panic attacks, not found herself delving under her bed for the box that lies down there. She's had a couple of fights with Franny, but that's what sisters do, and it's nothing unusual, never over anything particularly important. When she can, Lorna spends her time with Nicky. Watching TV, eating takeout, playing cards, going grocery shopping... it's easy. They have fallen into a steady routine. But Nicky works four days a week, which means four days a week, Lorna has to occupy herself with something else. Which is surprisingly fine, surprisingly easy. She cleans the house. When she's done, she goes to Nicky's, and she cleans there too. It makes such a nice change to have cloths and sprays and sponges and vacuum cleaners, when she's so used to relying solely on a maxi pad and water. She's careful not to break anything at Nicky's, not to be too nosy. Nicky's a private person, and Lorna doesn't want to break her trust, so she doesn't look inside her journals, in the books that are on her night stand, in her drawers. She picks up one of her t-shirts from the floor, lifts it to her face, takes in the familiar scent, the comfort of the old grey material, and can't help but slip it into her bag, take it home so she has a part of Nicky with her always. But other than that, she respects her privacy.

When she's done cleaning, she watches movies. Mostly, she goes through classic musicals, starting with West Side Story (of course), and moving on to Annie (Franny's favourite as a kid), My Fair Lady, Carousel, Cabaret. She winds up watching obscure ones, finds herself smiling like a dork at the kid in a Woody Allen classic because she reminds her of Nicky (when she sends Nicky a picture, Nicky rolls her eyes, doesn't appreciate it _at all_). Eventually, she runs out of films. Fortunately, that's when she gets the message from Nicky that Chapman wants to take them out, and would that be okay? She sends a reply saying 'sure!' and immediately regrets doing so.

It's not that she doesn't like Piper. She does – she really does. She's grateful to Piper for looking after Nicky, keeping her out of trouble on the outside, setting her up with a job. And she and Piper have always got along just fine. It's easy to do that when you eat every meal with someone, share bathrooms with them, spend every living moment cooped up in the same place as them. But Piper's been out for over a year and in that time Lorna's not so much as spoken to her once. Sure, she's had all the updates through Nicky, knows all about Larry and Polly, and Alex, and all the other mundane elements of Piper Chapman's life, but she doesn't feel like she knows her, not anymore. And that's terrifying. That someone can be out of your life for a year, and suddenly feel like a stranger.

Then, there's the small fact that outside of family, and Nicky (who, at this point, pretty much _is_ family), Lorna's not interacted socially with _anyone_. In Litchfield, she was always so well put together, always looked so neat and tidy. She's ashamed to admit it, but she knows she looks more of a mess on the outside than she did living somewhere where she could only wear whatever make up she could sneak in via Red, could only curl her hair with toilet tissue, relied on a mirror taped to a wall. She doesn't feel like the same person Litchfield spat out. She _certainly_ isn't the same person Piper said goodbye to all those months ago.

_But, _she puts on a brave face. She knows it means a lot to Nicky, and that Piper is only trying to look out for her, so she does her best to enjoy herself. She puts on a pretty cream summer dress, a nice pair of shoes, fixes her hair up, and gets into the car with Nicky, pretending it didn't take her two hours to get out of bed, and that she isn't still shaking like a leaf. They make small talk, and it's easy because with Nicky it's always easy, but Lorna's heart is thumping in her chest, and she can feel her hands begin to sweat, and she's never felt like this about something so _stupid_ before, but everything on the outside makes her panic these days.

"How do I look?" she asks as she steps out of Nicky's car, fidgeting with her dress.

Nicky smiles at her, tucks a strand of Lorna's hair behind her ear, lets her hand linger there too long, "you look hot."

Olive Garden is, as usual, packed full of students and old people and families with screaming children, and Lorna's not sure why but she feels a hue of embarrassment creep up her neck as they walk in. Piper's already seated, a menu open in front of her, and just the sight of her amongst the wailing babies, the scuffed mahogany tables and the mess of red and green napkins looks so foreign that Lorna almost does a double take. She sticks out like a sore thumb dressed in a smart navy dress and heels, her hair down with a slight curl. It's difficult to believe she's the same woman, but when she stands to greet Lorna, she has the same bright and breezy smile on her face, just accented by a little more make-up, and her eyes are just as warm as ever. She pulls Lorna into a tight hug, and for a moment, everything seems almost normal.

"Apparently the, uh, bread sticks here are... renown or something," she says, once they're seated, offering from a basket that has already been placed at their table. Lorna politely declines, shifting awkwardly in her seat, until she meets Nicky's eyes across the table. Nicky looks a different species from them, comfortably dressed in black jeans and a t-shirt for some band, and Lorna wonders if they should have discussed a dress-code before they arrived. She smiles at her, her eyes soft, and Lorna can't help but smile back.

"Geez, Chapman, two minutes into the joint and you're already discussin' the damn breadsticks. Losing your touch?" Nicky sends a cheeky grin Piper's way, and in all honesty, Lorna's feeling somewhat better that she's not the only person acting awkwardly, "so, what's good here, kid?"

It suddenly dawns on Lorna that they chose this place around her. It makes sense, when she thinks about it. When would Piper Chapman have ever ventured to an _Olive Garden_?! She can't decide how she feels about this realisation. _I don't need to be treated with kiddy gloves. I'm not going to self destruct from being forced to eat at a nice restaurant. _But given how much of a panic this trip has got her into, maybe Piper had the right idea. Ease her in gently. Still, she feels oddly sick. Betrayed, even, and she knows it's stupid but she'd have rather felt awkward working out which cutlery was which, than have the fact she's bellow them acknowledged.

"Lorna? You okay?"

"Yeah," she gulps, feels heat spreading across her cheeks, and suddenly the room's too small and Piper's sitting too close, and she has to get out.

"Want me to get you a glass of water?" Chapman, helpful as ever, automatically tries to help, and it's just making the situation worse, and Lorna almost knocks the breadsticks on the floor in her hurry to get up.

"I... just need to use the bathroom."

She hurries off, almost tripping over her own feet, and pushes the bathroom door into someone, apologising profusely before proceeding to empty the contents of her stomach into the nearest cubicle. She curls up in a ball, her chin resting on her knees, and there's tears in her eyes, and she knows the floor of a public restroom is not the best place for a cream dress, but she can't move. She hates this. She really does hate being this person, this liability. She's an embarrassment to be with. She can't even go for a nice meal with friends without acting crazy, causing a scene. She squeezes her eyes closed, leans on the cubicle wall.

"Lorna? You in here?"

Nicky's voice pulls her out of her own thoughts, and she starts to panic, wiping frantically at her face, smoothing back her hair. Her make-ups a mess. _Shit._

"Hey, it's just me," Nicky says, her voice softer. She knocks on the cubicle door, "Lorna? You okay?"

She waits a moment before scrambling to her feet and opening the door a little. Peeking out through the small crack, she is relieved to see that the ladies room is otherwise empty, Nicky standing right by her cubicle, looking deeply concerned. She opens the door the rest of the way, and crumbles against her, Nicky's arms immediately wrapping around her.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, kid, it's okay."

She has this awful sense of deja vu. Like, maybe she hasn't come such a long way after all. She's still crying in rest rooms, still clinging to Nicky like she's the only thing keeping her adrift. It's such an awful conclusion to come to that she feels the tears sting at her eyes again and she's sobbing, clutching to Nicky's t-shirt, and Nicky's rubbing her back, kissing her hair.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers between sobs, and she really means it. She's sorry for everything she's put Nicky through every single day she's been out of Litchfield, and before then. She's sorry that she's such a terrible person to be around a lot of the time.

"You don't need to be," Nicky moves to hold her at arm's length, tilting Lorna's face to look at her, "you have nothing to be sorry for, y'hear me? We rushed into this, I get that, okay? We should have waited. God, Lorna, if anyone should be apologising it's me."

Lorna shakes her head, murmurs an "I love you" before she can stop herself. Nicky pulls her to her again, holds her close, smooths her hair.

"I know, I know," she whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple, and they stay there for a while, until the door opens and a flurry of teenage girls walk in, talking at full volume, and Lorna pulls away from her.

"I need'a fix my face," Lorna mumbles, gesturing to her mascara-stained cheeks, "you go keep Chapman entertained. I'll be right out."

"Sure?"

Lorna nods, "yeah, of course."

Nicky smiles at her, squeezes her hand tight, "you look beautiful when you cry, y'know that?" she dips to kiss Lorna's lips, and then leaves her to sort herself out.

When Lorna comes back out of the bathroom and sits down at the table, Nicky and Piper are deep in conversation, Nicky obviously telling one of her many extremely racey, inappropriate stories. Fortunately, it's one Lorna's heard before, so she can laugh along with the ending, pretending she's fine and the bathroom incident didn't happen. If Nicky said anything to Piper, they don't show it. Piper doesn't immediately ask her if she's okay, just turns back to her menu, and small talk moves to the subject of Nicky's job. They order food and, okay, it might not be ideal, but it's not awful. Piper fusses over _everything_, wiping her cutlery when it arrives, asking for a new glass because the one they give her is slightly dirty ('You spent a year in prison, got served a bloody tampon sandwich, and you're fussing over the fucking _cutlery_. Chapman, you gotta get your priorities sorted out.' 'Hey, at least it's not plastic.') but conversation becomes easier, and by the time they finally move to go, Lorna's smiling. When Piper says they should meet up next week, too, she even finds herself agreeing, and it's almost completely genuine.

Nicky starts to drive her home, and Lorna stops her, touching her knee and saying softly, "take me to yours."

Lorna falls asleep in the car.

It's hardly surprising because she doesn't really sleep well without Nicky by her side, but when she wakes up she feels guilty for having left Nicky alone for the ride home. She blinks, not quite sure where she is for a moment.

"I hope you don't think I'm gonna carry you up," Nicky smirks as she opens the passenger side's door, "I know I've been getting extra _exercise_ lately, but I have to draw the line, y'know?"

Lorna laughs at her, follows her up to the apartment.

She hasn't been by in a few days, and it's a bit of a mess already, laundry spread all over the lounge, empty glasses and plates. Nicky walks in ahead of her and starts to clear up, muttering apologies.

That's when she spots it. It's not like it's particularly well hidden, peeking out from between two magazines on the coffee table, and Lorna freezes, staring at it. She reaches with shaky fingers, picks it up, feels that it's real. Her throat's dry as she grabs Nicky's arm.

"What the fuck is this?"


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N: **there's mentions of blood, alluding to self-harm, in this chapter. Just a warning in case any of you find that triggering. 

* * *

"What the _fuck_ is this?"

She's holding up a small polythene bag of powder, and her fingers are shaking, partly because she's never seen the stuff in the flesh, and partly because she's so angry, so scared. Nicky turns to look at her, panic in her eyes, and Lorna feels her heart sink, can already taste bile rising in her throat. She wraps her fingers around the packet, feels tears gathering in her eyes, even as Nicky is trying to talk her way out of it.

"Lorna- I haven't... I haven't touched it, I swear."

"Then what is it doing here?" she's surprised by how well her voice is holding out, how strong she sounds, even with the bag tight in her fingers, her knuckles turning white, nails digging into the palm of her hand.

"One of my old friends... y'know, he insisted... I haven't touched it. I'm not going to. I just-" she's running her fingers through her hair, twitching, can't stand still.

"What? You just couldn't say no? You really wanna give up four years for one little high?" Lorna shakes her head, moves backwards, hits the couch with the backs of her knees and sits down.

"It isn't like that. Please, you gotta understand. I just... need to... god, I don't even know how to begin to explain it to you, y'know? You weren't around when I was on this stuff Lorna. You don't know how-it gets into your head and it won't get out. You have a bad day, and you keep thinking about it, keep thinking- I wasn't going to take it, I swear to you."

She's taken Lorna's face in her hands, is kneeling in front of the couch, trying to get Lorna to look at her, but there's tears in her eyes, and she can't see straight, and Nicky's face is the last thing she wants to see right now.

"You should have told me," she says, her voice cracking, "if you were having a bad day, you shoulda talked to me."

"Look, I might put on this brave face, try to pretend everything's fucking brilliant, but you have to remember... I have a minimum wage job, I live in an apartment paid for by a woman who I fucking loathe, and I have all of about two friends out here... I thought as soon as you were out, and we were together, everything would be great and I could get on with my life but-"

Lorna falters, looks at her, "it's me," she whispers, her eyes wide, "it's me, isn't it? I'm-I'm not good enough. I-"

"No... god, no. It's not like that. It's just... it's hard..." she strokes Lorna's hair, wipes at her tears, "it's so hard. I wish I could explain it to you."

"No, it's me. It's me waking you up in the middle of the night not knowing who I am or where I am. It's me refusing to get out of bed for two hours, or refusing to _go to bed_. It's me breaking down in the middle of fucking Olive Garden and embarrassing you in front of our friends. All of this... all of this is down to me."

"Lorna..."

Nicky's shaking her and she's crying and crying and crying, and the drugs are clutched in her hand so hard it hurts and Nicky's kissing her and saying her name over and over and—-

Lorna wakes up.

The bed sheet is so tight in her grasp that her hand has gone stiff, her fingers ache. She lets go, blinks, tries to figure out her surroundings.

Nicky's holding her, and she looks terrified (an expression she's definitely never _ever_ seen on her before), knelt over her, panic in her big brown eyes. She lets go now that Lorna's definitely awake, moves back, lets her have some space. The room's spinning, and Nicky's saying things but Lorna's too far away to hear them, too zoned out inside her own head. She can feel tears drying on her cheeks, and she feels too hot, sweaty, but at the same time cold, shivery, like she's going to be sick again.

"W-what happened?" she stammers.

"You fell asleep in the car, I helped you up here... you zonked out. I come in and you're screaming, fighting something in your sleep. Are you okay?"

Lorna nods, running shaky fingers through her hair, "I... I'm fine. Are you okay?"

Chuckling softly, Nicky touches her face again, kisses her forehead, "Me? I'm great. You don't gotta worry about me, you know that."

But Lorna does worry. She can't help herself, not now. She's spent so much time trying to fix herself, trying to force _herself _into acting like a normal human being, that she's buried Nicky's problems, pushed her baggage aside, labelled it unimportant. _This is all you're good at_, she thinks, _ruining people_. You lean on someone so hard, they topple over. It's a domino effect. She can't bring Nicky down with her, so she'll have to walk away. It's not worth the inevitable pain, not worth ruining someone else's life over.

Nicky climbs into bed, turns out the light and wraps herself around Lorna, an arm possessively over her stomach, and Lorna rolls onto her side. She knows she should try to sleep, that her body has been telling her all day how exhausted she is, but she can't. Her brain won't switch off, and if she wasn't sure before, she knows she is now. It makes her chest feel tight, her breathing heavy. She's lying in silence, listening to Nicky's soft breaths, trying so damn hard not to cry.

Eventually, she drifts off, and if she has the same dream, she wakes up unable to remember it. 

* * *

The following morning, she wakes up to a plate being put in front of her.

"Breakfast," Nicky shrugs, "just don't tell Red – she'd totally flip if she knew I was feeding 'those pieces of cardboard trash' to you," she does Red's accent, eyes squinted, and Lorna can't help but laugh as she eyes the pop tarts on the plate.

Once Lorna is awake enough to sit up, she realises Nicky's already dressed in her red and yellow work uniform. She presses a kiss to the top of Lorna's head whilst she eats, and then continues to get ready, pulling her hair up into a ponytail whilst humming something in the mirror. If home is a sensory thing, then this is it, Lorna thinks, bathing in the sound of Nicky getting ready, the smell of processed, toasted chocolate.

All at once, she remembers the night before, and her smile falters.

"Right, kid, I've gotta get going," Nicky dips to capture her lips in a quick kiss, "you gonna stay here?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so,"

"Cool, there's leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry. I'll be back at like 5."

Lorna watches her leave, her chest suddenly so tight that she's struggling to breathe normally, can't think properly. As soon as she's sure Nicky's gone, she jumps out of bed, and before she can really process what she's doing, she's opening drawers and digging around through Nicky's stuff, erratically moving from one place to the next, not bothering to put things back as she goes. Drawers are spilling clothes, and the closet won't close once she's kicked all of Nicky's shoes over, but she doesn't notice the mess, can't quite focus on anything other than the thought that keeps repeating over and over in the back of her head.

She doesn't find anything. Of course she doesn't find anything, because there's nothing to find. Having successfully pulled apart half of Nicky's apartment, she stumbles back into the bedroom, curls up in the bed and can't quite stop herself from shaking. It's not satisfaction that she feels, nor relief. _It's only a matter of time_. It's not that she doesn't trust Nicky, not that she doesn't think Nicky has the self-restraint. It's not Nicky at all. It's her. She's poisonous. She pushes people into things they don't mean to do, don't want to do. Isn't that what they said at her trial? _More of a danger to others than herself_. Lorna laughs sourly. She's enough of a danger to herself, what hope does anyone else have? Not for the first time, she feels a rage building inside herself, a frustrating need to break things, but rather than take it out on Nicky's soft furnishings, she drags herself to the bathroom, seeking something to vanquish the headache that's steadily building behind her eyes.

Of course Nicky's bathroom cabinet is empty. She shouldn't be surprised because she doesn't exactly expect an ex-addict to keep a fully stocked drugs cabinet, but she still finds herself slamming the door closed with so much force that the glass shatters, dropping into the basin and onto the tiled floor. She stumbles around, trying to get the bin so she can clear up the mess, but she can't see straight for tears. She sits on the toilet, allows herself to cry, to calm down a bit, before she walks back to the bedroom. The mess can wait. She'll clean it up, but she needs to clean herself up first.

The trail of blood that follows her from the bathroom, along the wood flooring of the landing, and onto the plush cream carpet in Nicky's bedroom, is the first indication that something's wrong, and upon further inspection, she finds a large shard of glass buried in her bare foot. She hadn't even noticed it, hadn't felt the pain of it until she saw the blood, and once she's sitting on Nicky's bed, she yanks it out, only wincing a little. She's left a trail of destruction behind her, but she ignores it, turning the glass over and over in her hands. The point of it is sharp. She runs her finger along it, and it scratches the surface of her skin, tiny dots of red sprouting from her finger tip. It's been such a long time that Lorna's throat feels dry, but there's a familiar buzz through her veins, a familiarity about the steady thumping of her heart in her chest, and she can't stop herself from staring at the way the blood pours out of the tiny cut, trickling steadily down her finger. She's always found it oddly beautiful, oddly peaceful. Blood red lipstick became her signature look for a reason, and it's been so long since she wore it anywhere but her lips.

The phone ringing snaps her back into reality.

She doesn't answer it, because it's not her phone, but she drops the glass almost immediately, and the room is spinning, and she's suddenly all too aware of the blood that's pooling on the carpet by her feet, the trail she's left behind, the clothes that are sticking haphazardly out of drawers and the closet, the books and magazines that are sprawled across the dresser instead of neatly stacked. She feels sick. Even after the phone stops, there's a ringing in her ears, and she's struggling to focus her eyes on anything, and she feels so sick, so empty all of a sudden.

Lorna springs into action. She finds bandaids for her foot, clears herself up. She walks into the bathroom and sweeps away all the glass. She starts to put the clothes away. By the time Nicky gets home, there's a blood stain on the carpet, and her cabinet is still missing a mirror, but nothing else to so much as suggest anything has happened.

As soon as Nicky gets back, talking about getting take-out and asking what movie she wants to watch, Lorna starts gathering her things to go home. Nicky walks in from the bathroom, her hair down, her work clothes discarded in the laundry, and Lorna's flattening out her cream dress, ready to go.

"What happened to my bathroom mirror?" Nicky asks, sitting down on the bed in her underwear, taking Lorna's hand to stop her from continuing what she's doing. She glances at the blood stain on the carpet, looks back up at Lorna.

"Uh... I had an accident."

"Okay," Nicky says, but it isn't okay, and there's a tired, weary look of concern in her eyes that makes Lorna's stomach churn, "you wanna talk?"

"No, not really!" her voice comes out too high-pitched, too cheerful, and she stands from the bed, wrestling her hand away from Nicky's, grabbing for her purse.

But Nicky doesn't make a move to get dressed. She runs a hand through her hair, stares at Lorna. Lorna's forced smile falters. She thinks of all the things dream-Lorna said, all the sadness in dream-Nicky's eyes, and she can see it reflected in the real woman across from her. _It's me. I'm not good enough._ She has to go. Has to leave. Why won't Nicky get up and just drive her home? She thinks that as soon as she's home, she'll be able to clear her head. She'll stay away for a few days. After a while, it'll be easier. It'll make sense for her to not keep coming over. Nicky can start to have a life again. Can start to-

"Please don't push me away."

Nicky's voice sounds so small, so raw, that Lorna feels a lump form in her throat. It's not the first time she's felt like Nicky's reading her mind, answering questions Lorna hasn't even voiced yet. She wants to go to her, to curl up next to her, to feel the warmth and comfort she's always sought in Nicky's touch, but she knows she can't. It isn't fair. It just isn't fair to rely on someone in that way, to let someone ruin their own life because you can't control yours. So she refuses to look at her. She refuses to let the tears that are pricking at her eyes to fall. Her entire life all she's ever wanted was someone to call her own, someone to come home to, someone who loves her unconditionally. Someone to fall asleep in the arms of. She has that. Nicky might not say the words, but it's there in the way she touches her, the way she kisses her, the way she looks at her. Her eyes say a thousand things Nicky's too scared to say. But now that it's a reality, Lorna doesn't want it. She can't want it. It's not the perfect little dream world she created when she was nine years old. It has consequences. And the consequences are too real, too painful.

"Can we go?" she says in a small voice, fighting back tears.

"No."

She feels Nicky's fingers wrap around hers, and she shakes her head over and over, trying to pry her hand away, but Nicky's stronger than she is. Tears are finally making their way down her cheeks, and she can't stop them. _This isn't how it was supposed to go._

When she eventually turns around, Nicky's staring at her, and there's tears in her eyes, and she looks so broken that it makes Lorna's head swim. _You've done this. You're doing this. Look at what you're doing to her._ She knows she has to go, has to walk away.

"Please, Nicky, I need to go-"

"Whatever happened... whatever it is... just let me help, okay?"

Lorna shakes her head, can't form words. How is she supposed to explain? It isn't what's happened, it's what's going to happen, what she can feel happening already. This is what Lorna does. It's the only thing she's good at. It's not the first time and it won't be the last, but this time is the most important, and she can't do it, can't hurt Nicky more than she already has.

"Lorna? Damnit Lorna, at least look at me. Please?" she feels Nicky's fingers on her chin, guiding her face, forcing their eyes to meet, "talk to me?"

"I can't," she chokes out.

Nicky's eyes are searching hers for some kind of explanation, and her face is so close, her breathing so heavy. Lorna can't bear it, but she can't move away either.

"I love you," Nicky says, in a tiny voice, and the words are broken, but they're there. She's spent weeks trying to say it, but there's no satisfaction, no _finally, I've said it_, just desperation in her eyes, in her voice, and Lorna can't stop herself. No one's ever said it. No one's ever meant it before.

"I love you too," she finally whispers back, and Nicky's cupping her face, drawing her closer, and she stops fighting it, lets herself collapse into Nicky's touch.

She realises it's not staying that's going to destroy Nicky; it's going.

* * *

**A/N: **apologies for the very heavy chapter. Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews and comments. You guys are a dream.


	6. Chapter Six

A/N: Short chapter but I already had to change character narrative once, and didn't want to do it for a second time. Sorry for such a gap between updates. Cheers for all your continued support pals.

* * *

Lorna vaguely remembers once reading that sadness was nothing but the absence of happiness. It was probably in a text book or something at school; very little of what she studied (when she studied... which wasn't often) really went in, but sometimes the most irrelevant of passages would stick with her.

Whoever had wrote that particular article had obviously never experienced real sadness.

It's not that she's 'sad', exactly, but she can't put a name on what it is, and it's the only word that comes anywhere near to how she feels most of the time. What does she have to be sad about, anyway? She has a beautiful girlfriend (the word still feels foreign on her lips) who loves her. Who really _loves_ her. A family who are trying their hardest to understand that the girl they watched go off to prison three years ago, and the woman who lives with them now, is not necessarily the same person, but who love her all the same. She doesn't have a job, but she also doesn't have bills to pay.

She has plenty of reasons to be happy. Nicky gives her new reasons every single day. And she is happy, sometimes. Sometimes, when she lies in bed, Nicky sleeping soundly beside her, she stares up at the ceiling and all she can think about is how much better everything is now, how lucky she is to have been given a second chance. The love she finds in Nicky's eyes, in the way she watches her when she thinks she's not looking, that tell-tale smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, makes her happier than she could have ever imagined being, even in her wildest dreams.

Sadness can't be an absence of happiness, because she _is_ happy, but it's still there. She knows it can't be an absence of anything, or it wouldn't be so consuming. She wouldn't feel like it was swallowing her whole on her bad days, lingering in the back of her mind like a bad smell on the good ones.

Nicky asks her for about the tenth time to move in.

It's been almost a month since she got out, and admittedly, she's spent at least seventy percent of her time at the apartment, but the thought of making it official makes Lorna's head spin.

Against her better judgement – or, maybe, because of – she says yes. She can't help but notice the way Nicky's whole face lights up, even if she swallows the expression after seconds, buries it under her usual casual demeanour. It's still there, even for the briefest time. She covers it up with a joke, something dirty that Lorna rolls her eyes at, but it still makes her feel warm inside.

Breaking the news to her family, however, is something else entirely.

"I really don't think it's a good idea, Lorn," Franny says, and she's trying to be diplomatic – there's a kindness in her eyes, in the way she gently lays a hand on her sister's knee, in the gentleness of her voice – but all Lorna can think of is that first day, that conversation between her and Mikey that she overheard, that _word_. The word she's heard her father mutter under his breath, the word that fills the room once she's left it, the word that her father finally uses to her face to try and stop her from going.

"God-fucking-damnit Lorna. What is the matter with you? Did your ma and I not raise you right? You wanna ditch a perfectly lovin' home to shack up in some _dyke_'s loft? That it?"

"Pops..."

"No, Francesca, you butt out of this for a minute will ya? I have had it. I have sat back and let youparade this new... _perversion_ of yours for weeks, not sayin' nothing because you're my baby girl and I was just glad to have you back in one piece, but I'm not gonna let you ruin your life over some druggie lesbian whore, not whilst I'm still livin' and breathin'. Your ma would be turning in her fuckin' grave, you know that Lorna? You think your ma would be proud of her little girl the pervert?"

Lorna, tears in her eyes, juts out her chin, swallows, puts on a brave face, says in her strongest voice: "I'm not really sure she'd be proud of any of us."

If she wasn't sure about moving out before, she is now. She goes straight to her room and packs a bag, ignores Franny knocking on her bedroom door, trying to coax her out. There's not much to take with her; she hasn't replaced the clothes she threw out, got rid of practically everything. She chucks everything she does have into a duffle bag, along with the music box her mom gave her when she was ten, one of her stuffed toys, her make-up bag. Her toothbrush and everything's still in the bathroom, but she has a spare at Nicky's, and she doesn't want to waste any time. She pulls on her favourite boots and leaves the rest of her shoes piled up in the bottom of the wardrobe.

She has to push past Franny who is standing on the other side of her door. She ignores her dad's shouting when she crosses the lounge, ignores Franny's attempts to get her to stay. She fixes her bag firmly on her shoulder, and walks down the street faster than she thinks she's ever walked before in her life, and she keeps walking, not really sure where she's going, but needing to be as far away as possible.

Eventually, she calls Nicky to pick her up. She's proud of herself because she isn't crying, isn't already rethinking her decision. She's stayed strong. This is progress, she thinks. She might feel like she's walking away from an explosion, but she's walking with her head held high, and she's not stumbling, and that's progress.

"Are you sure you've got everything?" Nicky asks, sceptically, when Lorna dumps her bag onto the backseat and climbs into the front.

"Yeah. It's just stuff, y'know? I don't need stuff."

It's easy to become used to not having much when you've been in prison for three years. Materialistic things become unimportant. Besides, Nicky spent years going from hotel to hotel without stuff, so she gets where she's coming from, doesn't address the subject again, and they drive most of the way in silence.

"Something happened, didn't it?" Nicky finally says, cutting the awkward silence that's been lingering between them, "with your family? What happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Look, I didn't mean to start somethin' up between you and them, y'know, I just wanted to-"

"I _don't want to talk about it, _Nick."

Nicky glances at her, frowns, "hey, I'm not the enemy here, kid. Come on. Talk to me. I thought we promised we'd talk things through from now on?"

Shrinking back against the window, resting her forehead on the glass, Lorna nods, squeezes her eyes closed. For the first time since she walked out, her actions actually register properly, and she starts to wonder if she made the right choice. Maybe there's some truth in her father's words. The Lorna who is sitting in her girlfriend's car is so unrecognisable from the Lorna who went to prison, the Lorna who wound her parents up with singing out of tune in their living room every day since she was six years old, the Lorna who crawled into bed with her mom after having a bad dream at night, the Lorna who would do anything her big sister said even if it meant getting into trouble. Even when she'd gone to prison, her family had still been there for her, hadn't they? Is it really the right thing to do, to turn her back on them?

She looks at Nicky. She tries to imagine how anyone can see Nicky and think the things her father does. She tries to imagine anyone saying a bad word about this beautiful, tender, _funny_ woman, and actually meaning it. She watches her, the way her teeth worry at her bottom lip as she drives, the way her fingers tap against the steering wheel purely out of habit. Her hair's extra fluffy, and she isn't wearing any make up, not even her usual coats of mascara, and she looks so beautiful that it makes Lorna feel warm inside. Of all the people on earth, Nicky is hers, she's chosen her. And if her family doesn't understand that, doesn't want to be a part of that, then that's their loss.

At the back of her mind, a voice is telling her that this isn't going to last, that nothing beautiful ever lasts in Lorna's life, that one day the weariness in Nicky's voice, the tired look that sometimes drifts over her, will consume her, and Lorna will have nothing, nobody.

For once, she's strong enough to ignore it.

"We should go out someplace. See a movie. Have dinner," she says, her demeanour changing. Lorna stares at Nicky, at the way her whole face lights up when she smiles, how her nose scrunches slightly. She visibly relaxes, glances again at Lorna.

"Yeah? Where do you wanna go? Your choice. After all, you are my new _housemate."_

* * *

Nicky shouldn't have let her choose the movie.

Of course, she picks a romantic comedy that does absolutely nothing to stimulate Nicky's mind whatsoever. In fact, she spends most of the time watching Lorna, fascinated by how she can look so adorable whilst shovelling such huge handfuls of popcorn into her mouth. The movie theatre is practically empty, and Nicky can't stop herself from taking advantage. She wraps her arm around Lorna's shoulders, and when she feels her relax, lean against her, snuggle up, she lets her hand fall to the girl's breast, doesn't let go even when Lorna squeaks, tries half-heartedly to slap her hand away. She's nostalgic for the old days, where groping Lorna in 'public' (as public as the hallways at Litchfield were) was second nature. Even before prison, she wasn't exactly a stranger to PDA, to put it mildly. But Lorna's different, so she's behaving herself. Sort of.

When they leave, Lorna won't shut up about the film, but Nicky isn't annoyed because it's that dumb passion inside her that she's missed. She's actually missed Lorna talking full pelt about things she couldn't care less about. It's good to have a reminder of the old Lorna, to know she's still in there, to know that not absolutely everything has changed.

She has been better lately. She's still quiet compared to how she _was_, but when Nicky thinks about it, she realises that maybe that's an unfair analysis to make. In Litchfield, there were so many people, so many different things going on at once; maybe Lorna was always this quiet and Nicky just didn't notice.

She's loud when they're alone; when they're on the couch and Nicky tickles her just to make her squeal, or when she's singing in the shower, or shouting at some stupid soap opera on TV. She's loud when she's telling Nicky that she loves her, and when she's moaning her name between kisses.

They get take out, and go home – to _their_ home, now – and Lorna reminds her just how loud she can be, over and over until they're too tired to function, and fall asleep, a tangle of sweaty limbs and bed sheets.

* * *

She promises Lorna she's going to help her get better, but she realises that she has no idea how to do that. She meant it, when she said it, meant it with her whole heart. Of course she did. But the reality is that she can't do it by herself. She doesn't know what she's doing.

After some deliberation, she decides one night, with Lorna fast asleep, to attempt googling it. Nicky's the kind of person who rolls her eyes at people's reliance on technology, but at the same time, will spend four hours reading about something ridiculous like whale genitalia on wikipedia. Google has been her friend for a long time, assisting in various late night research sessions, but never anything this important. She spends a good ten minutes deciding what on earth she should even be typing into the search bar.

Mental health is scary. This isn't news, but the articles are endless and with each new one she reads, a new concern grows. She looks at anxiety, depression, personality disorders, delusional psychosis; tries to go through the symptoms and analyse what sounds like Lorna and what doesn't. But it's impossible. Lorna has never been open enough about what's going on inside her head, and all this information does nothing but make her panic.

She's leaning her head back, eyes closed, surrounded by scribbles and snacks, when Lorna walks into the room.

"Nick? Whatcha doin' in here?"

Lorna sounds groggy, still half asleep. She's wearing one of Nicky's t-shirts and nothing else, and her hair is a mess of dark almost-curls. Nicky smiles wearily at her, puts her laptop away, welcomes her into her lap on the couch.

"I couldn't sleep," Nicky mumbles, pressing her lips into Lorna's hair as she settles against her, "you okay, kid?"

"Yeah, just wasn't expecting to wake up without you, that's all,"

She can tell Lorna's still sleepy because her words are slower than usual, and she's using the same voice she usually teases Nicky in, a dopey little smile on her face. It's nice. She seldom looks so carefree anymore. Maybe her moving in really was the best decision; she's becoming more and more the old Lorna every day.

Nicky has to remind herself that the 'old' Lorna wasn't exactly mentally stable, either.

Making herself comfortable, Lorna wriggles so her head is resting on Nicky's chest, and as much as Nicky enjoys the closeness, she's too close to the jagged scar that runs between her breasts, and it's uncomfortable.

"Man you have a pointy chin, Morello," she mumbles, and Lorna immediately moves, lays the side of her face flat against her skin instead, looks up at her with apologetic eyes.

"I like bein' able to hear your heart beatin'"

The corner of Nicky's mouth flicks up into a half-smile and she nods, "yeah... me too. It's good to know I've still got one."


	7. Chapter Seven

Nicky knew talking about it was not going to be easy, but she wasn't prepared for the explosion that actually occurs when she brings up the subject of Lorna getting professional help.

One minute, Lorna's sitting quietly on the couch, flicking through a magazine, making stupid jokes, and the next she's screaming and crying and threatening Nicky with a pair of kitchen scissors.

Even after everything she's learnt about Lorna pre-Litchfield, Nicky has never had justification to feel afraid of her, not until now, anyway, and it puts a completely new kind of panic in her to see her acting so irrationally. As much as she loves her, as much as she knows it's an illness talking and acting, consuming the woman she loves, she's still scared. Lorna is scary. And that's a horrible thing to admit. It settles in her stomach like poison, makes her mouth dry, and when she grapples the scissors out of Lorna's hands and curls around her, holds her still, she can still feel her heart pounding all the way through her body, from her head to her toes. Lorna is sobbing, and she's rocking her back and forth, pressed against the back of the couch, and she realises that tears are falling steadily down her own face, that she hasn't even noticed.

She knows Lorna needs help, but she now knows that it's not going to be as simple as finding somewhere for her to go, and sending her there.

Once Lorna's finally calmed down, she won't stop saying sorry, and it's not particularly surprising when that leads to sex. Nicky knows it's become Lorna's way of apologising, of making things right, that it shouldn't be her fallback, that she should be telling her no, but she just can't do it. It's enough her problem as it is Lorna's. But when it's over, she feels guilty, and makes a silent promise to try harder to say no next time.

Lorna sleeps. She looks peaceful when she sleeps. It's almost a relief to watch her sleep, and Nicky thinks that must be how parents feel when they put their toddlers down for a nap. She immediately regrets that thought, because it's patronising, and she's promised Lorna she won't handle her with kiddy gloves anymore, won't treat her like a child, but here she is.

She's exhausted, but she doesn't want to sleep. She wonders if that's how Lorna feels all the time. For just under half of their time together in Litchfield, Lorna was hiding herself from Nicky, hiding the storm that raged on inside of her, and Nicky can't even begin to imagine how exhausting that must have been. She's well versed in pretending things are okay when they aren't – isn't that exactly how she wound up down that particular rabbit hole in the first place? - but she knows it's far, far more complex for Lorna, probably more complex than she even understands herself. It shouldn't be surprising that her initial reaction to opening up and sharing all of that with someone is fear and rage. Nicky knows from the countless NA meetings she's been forced to go to – it's a part of her parole agreement, actually, and she fucking loathes it – that sharing is not easy. She usually falls back on humour because it's never let her down, but she knows it isn't the same for Lorna. She knows no matter how hard she tries to understand the demons in Lorna's head, she probably never will, and that's the most frustrating thing of all.

So, she doesn't push. When Lorna wakes up the next morning, she doesn't mention it. She gets dressed and goes to work and tells herself she's not going to spend her whole shift worrying about what Lorna's doing, and it sort of works. When she gets home, Lorna's watching television, having obviously spent the day cleaning the flat, and Nicky knows that's another part of it, that that's another way of Lorna apologising, but she doesn't mention it. They have a normal night in with take out and a trashy movie, and Nicky pretends she doesn't spend the whole time worrying that Lorna's suddenly going to snap again.

* * *

"Franny's pregnant again," Lorna says, about a week later, and Nicky realises by the deep frown lines across Lorna's forehead that that's not a cause for celebration.

"Oh," she says, because honestly, what else is there to say about somebody you don't know and a situation you're not a part of. Lorna's family have made it quite clear that she isn't welcome to be a part of it, even if Lorna tries to pretend like that isn't the case.

Lorna doesn't expand on that piece of information, but she does ask Nicky to drive her over to the house, and when she comes back, several hours later, she's even quieter than she was when she went. Nicky doesn't ask her about it because it's none of her business.

"Ayy, you mind turning that down, I'm tryin'a read over here."

The television's blaring Wheel of Fortune and she's not even convinced Lorna's watching it. She thinks there's a high chance it's only on so the noise will drown out the static in Lorna's head. It's something Nicky understands from months of having to have the tv, or the radio, or _something_ on to even be able to sleep. That's the effect Litchfield has on you. But at the same time, it's different when it comes to Lorna, and she gets that.

Lorna looks at her blankly, before fumbling around for the remote, shutting the television off entirely.

"Why are you holding that book so close to your face, can't you read it from far away?" she says, after a moment, "I always noticed you did that before. Must be somethin' wrong with your eyesight Nichols."

Nicky glares at her, but there's a smirk lurking in the corner of her mouth, "hey, maybe you're right. That would explain my attraction to you, right?"

Lorna laughs, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, and Nicky immediately regrets that poorly aimed joke. She's always been good at saying the wrong thing, but especially lately.

"Seriously though, your eyes are doing that whole squinting thing," Lorna continues, gesturing vaguely with her arms, squinting her own eyes, "are you sure you shouldn't have reading glasses or somethin'?"

Scoffing, Nicky shakes her head, places the book face down, open, on her lap, looks at Lorna roughly, "you sayin' I need to go get my eyes tested, is that it, kid?"

Lorna grins at her, and Nicky can't help but grin back because it feels so long since she's seen her whole face light up like that. When Lorna moves to the armchair Nicky's occupying, takes the book out of her lap and crawls into its place, she doesn't feel even slightly annoyed. She tangles her fingers in Lorna's hair, stares into those beautiful chocolate brown eyes, and lets her smile spread to her whole face as she draws Lorna's face closer, pulls her into a kiss.

"Is my face close enough for you? Can you see me okay?" Lorna says as they part, and Nicky pushes her, threatens tickling until Lorna holds her hands up defensively, curls herself around her instead, and Lorna kisses her deeply, pressing herself as close to her as possible.

"Nah, you're right, I think you're gonna need'a go across the room," breathes Nicky after a moment.

Lorna swats at her, the first open-mouthed smile for days drifting over her features, "I reckon you'd look hot with glasses," she whispers, brushing Nicky's hair out of her face, ghosting a kiss to the corner of Nicky's mouth, moving down to her jaw.

"Eyy, don't tell me you've been holding out for Vause this whole time," Nicky says, lifting her head as Lorna continues down her throat, "I don't think my street cred can take any more d-" she's cut short by Lorna reaching _that_ spot on her neck and nibbling at the delicate skin there, eliciting a husky "fuck" from Nicky, and any talk of glasses is long forgotten.

* * *

Their second attempt at a day with Piper is much more successful than the first, primarily because it's in a relaxed setting, and even though Piper's house is full of fancy ornaments and weird kitchen appliances that she can't begin to work out the use for, it's not public, and that makes all the difference for Lorna.

She hates thinking about it that way. She hates thinking about her like she's some pet that she can't take out in public. Of course she and Lorna go out. They go out for dinner, and they go out for walks in the park, and grocery shopping, and she even put up with three hours of Lorna dragging her around clothes shopping. It's different when it's just the two of them, though.

So, Nicky's grateful when Piper announces she's going to cook for them, even if she is somewhat weary of her ability in the kitchen. Then again, this is coming from someone who lives off take-out and microwave meals, the occasional balance bar during her lunch break at work. She's in no position to judge anybody's cooking. She already knows what the contents of Piper's kitchen looks like; organic vegetables, packets of seeds, granola, cheeses with unpronounceable names. It's not entirely different from the home Nicky grew up in. She can't imagine anything worse.

Lorna spends an hour getting ready. She sleeps in curlers, spends longer than usual taking them out, longer than usual applying her make-up perfectly. Nicky likes to watch her because it only takes her five minutes to change, apply mascara (two of those minutes is waiting for the first layer to dry) and pretend to tame her hair, so she's got time. She remembers something Lorna said when they were still in Litchfield, when Nicky was making fun of her for re-applying her whole face after they'd been at it in a broom closet, realises it's still relevant now. There's not much Lorna can control, but she _can_ control her appearance, and Nicky knows it's important to her to look nice, so she would never dream of teasing her about it now. Besides, she kinda enjoys the process.

Lorna wears a black crop top and a bright pink high waisted skirt that matches her lipstick _exactly_ and before she's even done primping in the mirror, Nicky knows she's going to spend the whole evening wanting to tear that outfit off her.

To her credit, she makes some effort. She pushes on a nice pair of shoes instead of her grubby Doc Martens. Even attempts to flatten her hair out.

Before they leave she sneaks a hand up the front of Lorna's outfit, tries to capture her lips in a kiss that will last her the rest of the evening, but Lorna swats her away, protesting that she's going to mess her lipstick up.

The aroma that hits Nicky's nostrils as soon as she walks into Piper's flat is enough to convince her that okay, maybe Piper had a right to insult Red about the food, because _damn_ whatever she's cooking smells delicious (thought she will never _ever_ admit this to Red).

"Eyy, Chapman, how comes you never cooked for me before? You saving your culinary skills to impress my missus?" she asks, going straight for the cooker and lifting the lid off a boiling pan of sauce, but being slapped away before she can taste the contents.

"Don't even think about it," she says, pushing Nicky in the direction of the door, "go and sit down and I will bring some nibbles through."

Piper's got her back to her before she can even make a pun on the word nibbles, and Nicky does as she's told, finding Lorna staring at a framed photograph of the Chapman family that's sitting on the mantle piece in the living room. There's a weird expression on her face, but Nicky doesn't get a chance to question it before Piper's thrusting a bowl of organic olives and feta cheese at her.

"You call these nibbles?" Nicky calls after her, but she plucks an olive out of the bowl anyway, tosses it in the air, catching it in her mouth.

"You've got a lovely house," Lorna says after a moment. She's moved to looking at a shelf of exotic fish ornaments, and her eyes are bigger than usual, drinking it all in, "real nice. Nick, look at this stuff."

She looks but she doesn't really see what's got Lorna so worked up, the source of the wonderment in her eyes, maybe because she grew up with stuff like this, or maybe because she's spent too much time in Piper's house prior to Lorna getting out. Either way, she pretends to look, mostly just to humour her, until she catches glimpse of a picture of a teenage Piper, and can't help but snatch it up off the shelf for a closer look.

"Man, I always saw you more as the debutant type Chapman... what's this, soccer practice?"

Piper appears, snatching the photograph away, "if you must know, I used to play hockey," she pauses, sighs, "well, until I got hit in the face with a puck on the second day, anyway."

Nicky can't help but lose it at this, laughs so hard tiny tears are threatening at the corners of her eyes, and the indignant look on Piper's face just makes it worse. She catches a look at Lorna out of the corner of her eye, and she's stifling giggles too, and that just sets her off again.

"I'm sorry but you gotta admit that's pretty funny," Lorna agrees, patting Piper briefly on the arm, "and if it makes ya feel any better, my dad made me play softball when I was a kid. I got hit square on the mouth once, lost a tooth."

"Softball, huh, that makes _some things_ make a lot of sense," she shoots back, raising her eyebrows in Nicky's direction, and she can't help but smirk in response, watching Piper head back to the kitchen, leaving her to try and explain to Lorna who is less than pleased about being left out of the joke.

* * *

Dinner's nice. Conversation flows easily, revolving mostly (unsurprisingly) around Litchfield and old friends and the havoc they used to wreak there on a daily basis. It fills Nicky with hope that Lorna spends the night laughing, and talking, and stuffing her face methodically like only she can. She seems so much more alive than she has in a while, and on their way out, even Piper comments (quietly, when Lorna can't hear her) that she seems better.

Better, unfortunately, isn't a fixed state, but Nicky doesn't want to mention that. She knows it's difficult for Piper, who doesn't see Lorna every day, doesn't live with the demons, to understand.

The drive home is quiet, but its a comfortable quiet. Lorna spends a lot of it looking out of the window, a soft little smile on her now not-quite-bright-pink lips, and Nicky keeps catching glimpses of her when she stops for a red light. She seems content. The kind of content that she only usually is when she's sleeping (and that's when she isn't being hounded by night terrors).

Later, when Nicky's finally got her out of that sexy little outfit, and they're both tangled up in the sheets, sweaty and quiet and fulfilled, Lorna's mood has shifted. She lies on her side, staring at Nicky, and her eyes are serious, far more serious than they have been, and the feeling of dread is already beginning to settle in Nicky's stomach before she even opens her mouth.

"Will you go for an eye test?" Lorna says, after an uncomfortably long time, and Nicky almost laughs at the absurdity of it. At the thought that that somber little look on her face is about the possibility of Nicky needing glasses.

"It's really not that big a deal-" Nicky starts, but she can tell there's something else, something Lorna's trying to say without saying.

"If you go for an eye test I'll..." she sighs, looks away, swallows, and Nicky thinks she knows where this conversation is going, can see how hard Lorna is trying to muster up the strength to say it. Nicky threads her fingers through Lorna's, brings her hand up to her face, brushes kisses across her knuckles. Lorna cups her face with her spare hand, rubs her thumb across Nicky's jaw, "I want to try," she finally breathes, her voice no louder than a whisper.

Nicky knows that that's as much of an admission of defeat as she's going to get, and even if she hasn't completely agreed to getting help, it's a start, and that alone means everything. In the morning, she wakes up early and makes an appointment at the opticians, leaves a leaflet for the local doctor's office pinned to the fridge for Lorna. It's a start.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** sorry it's taken me so long to update. I suck. Thanks for your patience x

* * *

Nicky gets glasses. Lorna gets a therapist.

It sounds easy. It sounds like that's the tallest hurdle jumped. When Lorna sticks the note on the fridge to remind herself of the date, time, address, she thinks it should feel like this monumental moment, a turning point for them both, for her as a person.

It doesn't, and it isn't.

The doctors appointment was uncomfortable. In fact, that's over-selling it. 'Uncomfortable' doesn't describe the effort it took to get out of bed that morning, the way she had to stand outside the building for twenty minutes just to get the courage up to go inside, the way she sat in the room twisting her hands in her lap whilst Nicky spoke to the doctor, the way she refused to speak even when she was spoken to. 'You have to want this for yourself' he said, and Lorna nodded because she _did_ want this for herself, she did want to get better, but wanting something and actually being strong enough to go through with it are two different things.

Still, she had done it. She had gone to the appointment and she had come home with a meeting with a therapist, and even if it's a baby step, it's still a starting point.

Lorna's reluctance about therapy is matched by Nicky's reluctance to wear her glasses.

"They look good! Y'know the whole glasses thing is really a turn on for a lot of people, you see those girls in the movies, and in the magazines... I ain't saying you weren't smoking hot beforehand but... they add a whole new level, y'know? Something geek chic or whatever. Insanely hot," Lorna rambles, thrusting the black rimmed glasses back onto Nicky's face after she's taken them off for maybe the tenth time.

"A fucking hipster, is what I look like," Nicky grumbles, but there's a smirk in the corner of her mouth that tells Lorna that maybe she's only being stubborn because she likes the way the compliment sounds on Lorna's lips.

She knows Nicky's eyesight problem isn't a massive issue, that her wearing or not wearing glasses isn't anything serious, but she pretends it is because having it there to compare to her own problems is comforting. Nicky's NA meetings are probably a better comparison, but that's also what makes them sort of terrifying, and why Lorna doesn't delve too deeply into that side of Nicky's life, especially with that one nightmare continuing to lurk in the back of her mind. It's a constant reminder that she's not the only one fighting an uphill battle. She has to think of Nicky as strong and well and not capable of being broken into a thousand pieces, or she won't have anything to cling on to, to keep herself upright and grounded.

She lies to her parole officer. She knows that isn't what you're supposed to do, that she could just as easily land herself back in prison, but the words slip off her tongue so easily. She talks about job interviews she hasn't been to, even hands over paperwork that's forged in her own shaky handwriting, and when she doesn't have all the right checks, all the right bits of information, her officer doesn't question it because she's pretty and sweet and not like any of his other ex-cons. She hates how easy it is to go back to that lifestyle, to drip lies instead of sincerity, but she can't stop herself. The most important parts are true – she has a stable roof over her head, she has support, she hasn't broken any of her parole agreements. She's being a good girl, she promises, and if she slips in a white lie here or there who can blame her? She doesn't want to tell her parole officer that she's half a picnic short of a sandwich or whatever because that's none of his damn business, and she only has to keep up this nonsense for a few months more before she's free of it all together.

* * *

Nicky wishes she didn't have to work. She wishes she had time to keep an eye on Lorna. She wishes, most of all, that the minute she walks in the front door every evening, she didn't have to do so with a tight feeling in her chest that she has quickly begun to recognise as dread. She hates that even when Lorna's well, she's worrying about what kind of a mess she will come home to.

She does everything she can to get Lorna's first therapy session off work, but the asshat who sorts the rotas out mislays her request form, and what do you know, there's no one to cover her when it comes to it. She hates the thought of Lorna having to face it all by herself, but she also knows it's not her battle to fight, and sticking her nose in isn't going to help.

Lorna insists she'll be fine and even though there's a hint of a wobble in her voice, and the red-lipped smile she offers isn't a hundred percent confident, Nicky believes her because she wants so desperately to. Besides, Lorna has been doing better. Baby steps, but it's been weeks since a full on panic attack or a breakdown, even if Nicky does still feel like she has to tip-toe around her half the time.

When she gets home and Lorna's not there, she feels almost relieved. And then she feels guilty for it.

The light on their completely out of date answering machine is flashing red, and Nicky presses the button to retrieve new messages as she struts into the kitchen to get a drink, fully expecting a rambling, unnecessary, over-sweet message from Piper to greet her ears. When it doesn't, and it's a man's voice instead, she freezes, almost drops the carton of juice that's halfway to her mouth.

"I should have known you would pull some kind of fucking stunt like this. I know it's you. I'm not an idiot Lorna. Clearly your time in prison did absolutely nothing to deter you. I don't know how the fuck you got this number, but if you dare come anywhere near me, or my wife, I will fucking kill you, you hear me? I. Will. Kill. You. You can expect to hear from your parole officer. Just get the hell out of my life you psycho bitch."

She recognises the voice immediately. Placing the juice carton on the kitchen counter with a shaky hand, she moves back to the answering machine, replays the message. Her hands ball into fists without her realising it, but it isn't Christopher she's angry at; it's herself for not being more cautious, for not keeping a better grip on what's going on with Lorna. She feels disappointed, and dread is settling in her stomach. Actions have consequences. She can't brush this under the table and pretend it never happened because if Christopher tells Lorna's parole officer, she's going to be in all sorts of trouble, and, selfishly, Nicky can't deal with losing her. She doesn't think Lorna's strong enough to go through Litchfield all over again, either.

Waiting for Lorna to come home feels like an age. Nicky paces the kitchen, can't stay still, itching to do something but knowing she can't, not until Lorna's back. She contemplates leaving her a message, but there's no point; she won't pick it up until after her session, anyway. And at least she's gone to therapy, at least she's starting to seek out help, at least she's started the path away from this destruction that seems to be the only thing she's good at lately. (She knows that's not fair, but it's so fucking frustrating; making progress and not making progress, feeling like you'd be better off hitting your head against a wall). She had never once, not for a moment, considered that Christopher would come back into their lives, and here he is, a glaring angry red light on an answer machine, a reminder of everything they've been through together. Everything she thought they'd at least begun to leave behind.

She has an overwhelming urge to smash something, to put her fist through something, but she knows coming home to a smashed up flat and Nicky's bleeding knuckles isn't going to make Lorna open up to her, so she fights it. She blasts the radio full volume, but she isn't listening to it, just needs the noise.

When Lorna walks in, she's smiling, and it only falters when she takes in Nicky's appearance, the loud music, the endless circles she's walking in across the tiled kitchen flooring.

Nicky turns the radio off.

"Bad day?" Lorna asks, uneasily, dropping her keys into the bowl on the kitchen table and immediately going to Nicky. She goes to tangle her hands in her hair, to kiss her, but Nicky lightly pushes her away, wriggles out of her grasp.

When she looks in Lorna's direction, sitting at the table, she can see her eyebrows furrowed, her bottom lip wobbling.

"How was your meeting?" Nicky says, trying to keep her voice steady. She's not angry with Lorna, or that's what she keeps telling herself. It's the situation. It's not something Lorna can help. (She can't help but think that's not entirely true).

"Fine," Lorna's reply is non-committal, but her eyes narrow a little, and her gaze won't focus on Nicky.

"Uhuh... did you tell your new doctor about your little phone call to Christopher?"

She looks as though she opens her mouth to deny it, but swallows whatever she was going to say, quickly looks away. There's tears in her eyes already, and her hands are awkwardly fiddling around on the table.

"I- I'm so sorry," she says quietly, and a tear slowly trickles down her cheek. She wipes at it furiously, and for the first time since she came in, Nicky feels her resolve melt a little, feels a pang in her chest reminding her that aside from everything else, she loves Lorna, and this isn't her fault.

She moves a little closer, "why did you do it?"

"I just-just wanted to hear his voice. That's all."

"You know it breaks your parole agreement, right? The restraining order? Shit, you could get in serious trouble over this, kid, did you think of that?" Nicky runs her hands through her hair. She went over and over what she was going to say before Lorna arrived, but she didn't factor in the heartbreak that was going to come with it.

"It was just a phone call. I-I didn't even- I mean, I didn't even say anything to him," Lorna whispers, looking up at her with wild, scared eyes, "they won't take me away again, will they-?"

Nicky softens, strokes Lorna's hair, wipes away her tears, "I don't know. But you can't fucking do that again, okay? How did you even get his number?"

"It doesn't matter," Lorna says quietly, closing her eyes. She presses against Nicky's touch, and Nicky draws her closer, kisses her forehead, wraps her in her arms.

"We'll fix this," she whispers into Lorna's hair, but even as she says it, she has no idea how she's going to do it, and it's just more empty promises she desperately wishes she could keep.

* * *

Nicky calls Christopher back, plays dumb, demands an explanation for the offensive message on her answering machine (is, not for the first time, grateful that she never got round to changing the message from the default one). He is very apologetic. Polite. Completely different from the deranged, yelling man she's encountered twice before.

She wipes his message and tries to forget that it happened.

Lorna goes to therapy once a week. Nicky drives her to a big glass building and watches her walk through to the front desk, disappearing into an elevator, and then she drives away. She doesn't want to baby her, or look like she doesn't trust her. When Lorna gets back in the evening, she's quiet and doesn't want to talk about it, so Nicky doesn't press her. It's not really any of her business what they talk about, so long as she's getting help.

She can't tell whether Lorna is actually getting better, or if it's a placebo affect. Not so much on Lorna's part, but Nicky's. She sees Lorna go to see her therapist, and she expects there to be a change. When she returns she stares at her, tries to see if there's anything different about her, like somehow her appearance is going to tell her everything she wants to hear. Of course, Lorna looks no different, and Nicky drags her eyes away, tells herself that it's still early days and there's no use pushing for a change. She doesn't know exactly how long Lorna's been the way that she is, but she knows it isn't something that started overnight, and that finding a cure for it is going to take more than just a few sessions with a therapist.

One day, when she gets home from work, exhausted and sweaty and definitely not for the first time wishing it wasn't part of her damn parole agreement for her to have a job, Lorna is in the kitchen, baking. She recalls Lorna's version of helping in the kitchen being carving faces into vegetables, hadn't really thought about her cooking. And she's certainly never _baked_ before. Nicky goes straight to the bedroom, sheds her disgusting work uniform, slips on a t-shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts, and heads into the kitchen.

"Somethin' smells good."

Lorna twists to look at her, and she's smiling, "oh, hey, I didn't hear you come in."

"What is all this?" Nicky asks, immediately sticking her finger into a bowl that's sitting on the counter and drawing it to her lips, ignoring Lorna's protests as she hits her with a spoon.

"I felt like making a cake. You shouldn't be eatin' that, it's got raw eggs in,"

"Alright, _Red_," she smirks, licks her lips, dipping her finger in a second time, "tastes pretty fucking good though. If this is a cake, what's in the oven?"

"Cookies," Lorna says, and she looks embarrassed. It's adorable, and Nicky abandons the bowl of cake mix, favouring a taste of Lorna's lips instead.

"I didn't know you cooked," she continues, after Lorna pulls away to continue cooking.

Lorna shrugs her shoulders, glances at Nicky over her shoulder, "My mom taught me how to cook when I was little. It was kinda our thing... cakes, especially. I guess I stopped when she... well when she got sick..." Lorna trails off, looks away, and Nicky feels a lump forming in her throat, suddenly wishes she hadn't said anything.

"I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely, not really knowing what else to say, and when Lorna looks at her again, she has teary eyes, but she's smiling.

"Anyways, the cookies should be ready soon, and you can help me with the cake, if you want?"

Nicky ends up eating more cake mix than cooking it. Once it's baked and cooled and iced, she painstakingly draws two figures holding hands onto the top, and she pretends not to notice the tear that slides down Lorna's cheek when she shows her.

* * *

_"Hello, this is a message for Ms. Morello from Nicole Davis' office. We have on our records that you were supposed to have an appointment with Ms. Davis at 2.15 on the 7th and didn't show. If you would like to rearrange your appointment, please do give us a call. If we don't hear anything in the next 14 days we'll erase you from our records. Thank you."_

Nicky plays the message three times just to make sure she's heard it correctly.

A sick feeling settles in her stomach as she wonders what on earth Lorna has been doing for hours every week, if she hasn't been going to her therapist, and why she would continue to lie about it.


End file.
